


Made for You

by CelestePhantasm



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Based only on the show, F/M, In-depth character moments, Not Korra-compliant, Not comic-compliant, Slightly Extend Timeline, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Swearing, Tags to be added, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:40:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24897832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestePhantasm/pseuds/CelestePhantasm
Summary: The world made choices—plans that would come to fruition whether or not the people involved wanted it.When of age, everyone received a Mark—the only exception was the Avatar.As the only Waterbender, Katara would have to Mark her entire village—but she had no one to teach her, until she arrived at the Northern Water Tribe.Sokka received his Marks first—with one for Yue, and one for Suki. A relieving revelation, to be sure, as he has a distinct fondness for both of them.Katara, however, felt overwhelmed by her Marks.As though saving the world wasn’t hard enough, the Spirits chose afirebenderfor her soulmate.Katara had never liked being told what to do.
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Suki (Avatar), Sokka/Yue (Avatar)
Comments: 171
Kudos: 376





	1. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _DISCLAIMER:_** I do **NOT** own _Avatar: The Last Airbender,_ or any of its contents, characters, themes, or ideas. I make absolutely no profit off this—I’m only writing for fun.
> 
> Hello! So, I know the show has experienced a huge resurgence due to its recent digital availability, but I remember watching when I was little—I loved it so much that, to this day, I have two or three different physical copies of the show, and own it digitally.
> 
> So, of course, I’ve seen it several times—I adore it with all my heart, and I’ve wanted forever to write in this world and do it _justice._ I tried, many years ago, and I don’t think I gave the characters their due, and I didn’t know where I was going with the story.
> 
> But I admit to being a huge fan of the whole Soulmate!AU thing, and I started writing one that took place post-show that was...I _loved_ where I was going with it, but it didn’t feel...right. I felt like the soulmate thing was just sort of too much, but I still wanted to do something with my idea for soulmates, so, eventually, this came out of it.
> 
> So, what you need to know:
> 
> The story takes place during the show, but will have a slightly extended timeline, for a little more wiggle room on my part. Some things will definitely change in canon (mostly to help along the relationships, I confess), but I do want to stay faithful to the show because it does mean a great deal to me.
> 
> I’ve only written the first chapter, so far, because I do intend to watch the show at the same time, to catch the dialogue and character beats that I need within the story, and to try to be accurate as I can, time wise.
> 
> That said, I also want to see the reaction to see if this will actually have any sort of reader interest, because I’m sure there are other soulmate-based stories in this universe, and I don’t want this to come across as overwrought or boring because it’s been done too many times.
> 
> So, that said, off you go!
> 
> I hope you enjoy it, and please let me know if you do! I’m more likely to finish the story if I know people actually _want_ to read it.

When Chief Arnook approached Sokka, the younger man expected a tongue-lashing to end all tong-lashings over Yue. Fathers were usually protective of their daughters, let alone the Chief of the entire tribe, whose daughter was _beautiful._ Sokka had noticed her right away, of course.  
  
And Sokka wasn’t subtle at all.  
  
He wasn’t exactly trying to be, either.  
  
But instead, Arnook pulled him aside, to an otherwise empty room. He made a request that sent Sokka reeling—it left him completely lost, not quite even processing when Arnook started to speak. He felt a headache forming between his eyes when it hit.  
  
“My daughter has just turned sixteen,” Arnook started, quietly, “and none of our people have matched up to her Markings.” His voice was low enough to miss, despite them being alone, despite Sokka being scant _inches_ from the chief. “Our sister tribe still follows the traditions, I’m sure, but I’m unsure of your age—”  
  
“I’m fifteen,” Sokka managed, and it was almost a gasp, because that was the first thing that he managed to register, after he realized they were talking about Yue’s _Markings._ But of course, a moment later, he began to blush, but then _that_ was consumed by anger, and his fist clenched. “My sister is the _only_ waterbender left,” he said, almost scathingly, too sharply, but that damnable Pakku—he refused to teach her, and it wasn’t like _Arnook_ was even remotely stepping up to make a change.  
  
_The only waterbender._  
  
Arnook froze, and then scowled, but he had the decency to school his features and not look as outraged as he felt _entitled_ to be.  
  
He understood why Sokka was upset, but that did not make it right. It was not excusable. The traditions _must_ be obeyed.  
  
He took only one quiet, but soothing breath, before he spoke, “In that case, I’m sure Master Pakku would be happy to perform the ritual for you,” he said, much more smoothly than he thought he might manage. “You are of age. It would be shameful not to grant you your Markings,” he added, and that was true.  
  
Sokka was intensely tempted to turn down the offer, considering the sexism of the Northern Water Tribe, especially since it seemed like it was being used as a manipulation. “What does this have to do with Yue?” The question was careful, but skeptical.  
  
He wasn’t sure he trusted not to get tied up in all the sexism and stupidity of this place, because Sokka still intended to leave again with Aang and Katara when Aang had finished learning waterbending.  
  
Maybe Aang could teach her when they left—at least then he’d have someone to practice with.  
  
But Arnook looked surprised, and then shook his head, as though he couldn’t quite believe Sokka hadn’t caught on. “I think it would only be fair to see if you are Marked for my daughter,” he said, carefully. “I have withheld permission to many suitors seeking her hand, in the hope that I would find the man Tui and La have chosen for Yue.”  
  
Sokka doubted he would ever not be offended by Pakku—and, indeed, Arnook and the _rest_ of the tribe for their sexist ways—but something in him couldn’t say _no._  
  
He did, in fact, try, and choked on the air coming out of his mouth, and then had to swallow down the bile that came up.  
  
He _couldn’t_ say no, very literally.  
  
He hesitated, composing himself, and could barely speak. “I’ll accept,” he managed, and he could suddenly breathe again, as though his attempt at denying his Markings was against the will of the Spirits. He took a breath, and steeled himself. “But Katara must be granted the ritual, too,” he said, power in his voice, _meaning_ this. “She’s fourteen. There’s _no one_ who can do it for her—or the _rest_ of our people,” he reminded Arnook, feeling spiteful and angry and _hateful._  
  
He shouldn’t have accepted.  
  
But Marks were a great honor—a tradition and ritual that crossed the boundaries of the nations, in spite of the war.  
  
It was the one thing that could not be taken away, so long as there was _one_ bender left of any kind.  
  
But it had been, when the last waterbender was stolen from the Southern Water Tribe.  
  
There were men and women who didn’t have Markings—his own _mother_ hadn’t had them, because she had been too young when the last waterbender was taken.  
  
But Arnook agreed without any fuss at all. “I’m certain Yugoda would be happy to perform the ritual,” he said, without even a hint of malice. “It’s been a long time since she had the chance to give a healer her Markings.”  
  
Sokka seethed.  
  
But then, less than an hour later, Master Sexist was standing in front of Sokka, who had been stripped down to only his underwear, and despite the warm fire in the room, he was _freezing._  
  
Part of the ritual, he was assured, but that didn’t take the cold away.  
  
Katara and Aang were to the side, as his witnesses, and Sokka took a deep breath when Pakku drew a small bubble from a tiny vial.  
  
“By the spirits, Tui and La, we gather to reveal the Markings of our brother, Sokka.”  
  
Pakku began after Arnook spoke.  
  
He trailed the Spirit Water along Sokka’s arms, first, then along his head and neck, down his back, down his legs—  
  
_Nothing._  
  
Sokka felt sick. Was it because his mother hadn’t been Marked?  
  
But then Pakku was in front of him, and Katara gasped.  
  
He _felt_ it.  
  
He felt the water freeze on his skin, digging in to his pores, latching in to his already-frozen flesh, and Sokka inhaled through his teeth, reminding himself that the pain would ease.  
  
It _burned._  
  
He began to shiver harder, feeling sick and dizzy as the pain _worsened,_ and he fought it as long as he could, until he hit his knees, unable to breathe.  
  
Pakku pressed his hand to the back of Sokka’s neck, ran his finger down the middle of Sokka’s chest and stomach, and the water withdrew, and with it, the pain and cold and _burning._  
  
Katara rushed for him, wrapping a blanket around him, squeezing him, and Sokka coughed and shivered for a long moment.  
  
“You did good,” she whispered, quietly, seeing the tears in his eyes from the pain. “Gran-Gran said she only lasted two minutes.”  
  
Sokka felt like he might vomit, but he laid his head on her shoulder, feeling his fingers start to warm, wrapped in the blanket. “It hurts like a bitch,” he whispered, not loud enough for anyone to hear, but Katara’s answering laugh made him feel better. “Did you see it, before you wrapped me?”  
  
“No,” she said, softly. “I was more concerned about you freezing. Do you think you can get up?”  
  
Sokka tried, but then Katara called Aang over, and they helped him to his feet.  
  
He staggered, but they both helped him toward the fire, and he realized…  
  
The back of his neck hurt, too.  
  
Why hadn’t he felt that before?  
  
When he was just warm enough, he dropped the blanket from his shoulders, down to his waist, and Katara looked _delighted._ “It’s Suki!” She laughed, and Sokka looked down to see two fans, crossed over his chest, and below it, the eye makeup of the Kyoshi Warriors. “No wonder you hit it off with her—”  
  
“There’s something on the back of my neck,” Sokka murmured, vaguely in shock, because what _else_ could it be? Could it really be…could Suki be…? She hadn’t mentioned her Markings—were the traditions different on Kyoshi Island?  
  
Aang was the one who stepped around him, and he was quiet. “It looks like the moon,” he said, quietly. “We didn’t meet her at night. I wonder why you’ve got a moon,” Aang muttered, and he tilted his head. “The front ones aren’t in color, but the moon is,” he added.  
  
“It means he has two separate Markings,” Pakku said, quietly. “For two separate partners.”  
  
Sokka stiffened in the cold air of the room, despite the fire, and he instantly jerked the blanket back up to his shoulders, wondering if it would hide the one on his neck. “But…but…”  
  
“You’re not ready for this Suki, yet,” Pakku continued. “The moon is its correct shade. I suggest that you get dressed.”  
  
Sokka was baffled and didn’t respond, at first, but then Katara was tugging on his blanket. “Sokka, you’ll freeze. Come on,” she murmured.  
  
Pakku stopped at the door. “I’ll send Yugoda in fifteen minutes.”  
  
Katara straightened, feeling enraged, but she took a deep breath.  
  
She had been angry, when Sokka had told her he’d bargained to get her Markings done, but Sokka had insisted, because there was _no other way,_ and maybe if Katara saw it, she could give markings to the young ones when she went back home—if they wanted them, at least.  
  
It would also have to be that she would learn to purify the water for the ritual—they used Spirit Water here, but at home…  
  
Well, home was barren, in comparison.  
  
But she had eventually agreed, only after _a lot_ of pressure, and very begrudgingly.  
  
Once she’d helped Sokka get dressed, she took all of her outer layers off, too, and Sokka helped pin her hair up to the back of her head with several rough combs she made out of ice.  
  
She was freezing in just the few minutes it took Yugoda to arrive.  
  
Arnook spoke over the ritual again, and Yagoda smiled at Katara gently. “It’s alright, dear,” she soothed. “Take a deep breath.”  
  
Katara appreciated and respected Yagoda, even if she disliked the sexist way the tribe treated women, so she managed a weary smile in return.  
  
Yugoda drew forth her own small vial of water, and she took a deep breath, herself.  
  
She moved over Katara’s front, first—up her arms, down her legs, and Katara felt a _pull_ on her left ankle, and right between her breasts.  
  
But Yagoda kept moving, up the back of her legs, and on to her back, and she felt the pull _again._  
  
“Your Markings are extensive, dear. Take another breath for me. You need at least three minutes for yours.”  
  
Katara steeled herself and closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then she _felt_ it.  
  
A layer of ice so fine it might have just been frost on her skin, but it bit _deep,_ and it burned as badly as Aang’s haphazard attempt at firebending.  
  
She hissed and clenched her fists, trying to control the pain, trying to focus on how _intensely_ it had hurt when Aang accidentally burned her, how she’d managed to endure that, how she’d cried and sobbed and then dunked her hands in water.  
  
She could endure _this._  
  
She had endured too much to bow to a pain that nearly every human alive had endured, and she swallowed her soft gasps, gritting her teeth.  
  
“Nine minutes. She’s in the clear,” Arnook’s voice called, and Katara almost collapsed.  
  
But Yugoda ran her finger down the middle of Katara’s spine, and then her shin, and finally pulled the ice from under her sarashi, and Sokka wrapped her up, picked her up, and moved her to the fire.  
  
Katara had tears in her eyes as she gasped, trying to catch her breath.  
  
“You might have underestimated the pain level, Sokka,” she muttered, and she felt Aang joining them a moment later.  
  
He looked…upset. Shocked, somehow, and yet he was trying to hide it.  
  
Surely he knew she was tougher than that?  
  
“Here, dear,” Yagoda said, very softly, and she offered a little cup of warm water. “Your Markings will set overnight. They’re larger than I expected,” she said. “You’ll need rest.”  
  
Katara knew it, because as the pain faded and the warmth seeped over her, she felt unbearably tired. “Thank you, Yagoda,” she said, softly.  
  
The old woman smiled and patted the top of her head gently. “Take care, Katara.”  
  
Katara knelt at the fire for a long while, just trying to get her breath back and feel _alive_ again, and she took sips from the warm water Yagoda had given her.  
  
At last, she managed to get to her feet with Sokka’s help, and she took a deep breath.  
  
She pulled the blanket away from her ankle, first, and she felt the tears hit _then._  
  
It was a dragon. A _dragon._  
  
A _red_ dragon—it curled all the way up to her knee.  
  
…Surely…surely her…  
  
Surely it wasn’t a…  
  
Surely her soulmate _wasn’t_ from the Fire Nation.  
  
She bit back the tears and turned her back to Sokka. “What’s on my back?”  
  
“Dual swords,” he said, trying not to sound mad. Katara couldn’t help who the Spirits had chosen to be her soulmate, after all. “And, a…a dagger, between your shoulder blades.” He had hesitated, but then spoke again.  
  
That didn’t sound right. Both a firebender, _and_ this person used swords and daggers? Surely the dragon meant her soulmate was a firebender.  
  
She swallowed her nausea. “Not…not everybody from the Fire Nation is bad. Look at Jeong Jeong,” she murmured, trying to convince herself as she turned back toward Sokka and Aang, holding her breath, because her leg and her back were stinging _terribly._ “Maybe it’s a good sign for the war,” she added, trying to give all _three_ of them hope. She tried not to think of the marking between her breasts—she would have to check it at a later time.  
  
Sokka failed miserably at trying not to frown. “Yeah. That…that sounds great.” He took a deep breath. “I guess you and I don’t do anything halfway, do we?”  
  
Katara had just enough energy to laugh. “Guess not,” she agreed, but she tugged at the blanket. “I’m gonna get dressed. We should get some sleep.”  
  
Katara gathered her clothes and happily dressed, bending the combs out of her hair so that it just fell back down. She turned to see Aang staring at the fire. “You’ve been quiet, Aang. You okay?”  
  
Aang wasn’t as smooth as he thought—he flinched and then forced that usual, cheerful smile on to his face. “Yeah! I just—” He glanced at her shoulder, “that just looked like it hurt, is all.”  
  
Katara knew that wasn’t all of it, but pushing Aang never really worked out. “It does,” she admitted, and she glanced at him. “Were you Marked before…?”  
  
She didn’t say it, knowing it was sensitive. “The Avatar has never been Marked,” he said, very quietly. “I think the old Avatars usually settled for the rare Unmarked people—or they were in an…unusual relationship,” he added.  
  
Katara blushed, just a little. She knew what he meant—polyamory was rather rare, as most people were Marked only once.  
  
Her brother was an exception to that.  
  
But she remembered seeing the faded Markings on her father’s chest, after her mother was murdered, and how he now covered them carefully—as though protecting her, or what he had left of her, anyway.  
  
By all accounts, there were likely a lot of people with faded Marks, because of the war.  
  
And even more unfortunate was the number of people who would, doubtlessly, receive their Marks, and they would already be faded.  
  
Hunger, and poverty, and slavery…  
  
There were so many things that would lead to people receiving their marks, only to find out they would never find their other halves.  
  
…Katara tried to comfort herself in that knowledge, that she was _lucky_ that her soulmate was still alive, even if he was Fire Nation.  
  
_Of course he’s still alive, they’re the country ruling the world, by now._  
  
Katara tried to squash that thought, because there were still soldiers being killed in war.  
  
And her soulmate was likely still close to her age, so he was probably already in the war, or coming to it.  
  
Unless he was some nobleman, maybe, but she didn’t know much about the politics of the Fire Nation.  
  
She only knew what she saw.  
  
She shook the thought off, turning back to Aang. “Well, I’m sure everything will work out,” she said, cheerfully.  
  
Not that she didn’t mean it, but it was _vague_ enough to be meant and believed.  
  
He was too quiet on the way out of the room.  
  
Sokka was too quiet.  
  
And Katara was, too.  
  
But then, Arnook stopped in front of them, with Yue at his side. “Sokka,” he said, very quietly, “my daughter wishes to see your Mark.”  
  
Sokka stiffened and halted, and his mouth opened, but he didn’t manage to speak.  
  
At last, he nodded, and he stepped forward, and then turned his back on her, and he knelt before her. He reached up and tugged the back of his thick outerwear until it revealed the perfect shape of the moon.

He jolted when Yue’s bare hand touched the Mark on the back of his neck—her fingers were warm and soft and smooth, unworn.

Yue curled her fingers around his neck gently, stroking her thumb over his sore skin, and Sokka shuddered under her touch, his breath frosting unevenly out of his mouth. “Sokka,” she said, so softly that Sokka’s breath hitched. “May I show you mine?”

It was weird, having her offer. Surely she could just do it.

But Sokka rose, and then, with all his will, did not look away from Yue.

He didn’t see the pride in Katara’s eyes, or the relief in Arnook’s, nor the pain.

“If—” He hesitated, and glanced back at the room, down the empty halls. “I would be honored, if you would join me by the fire. I don’t see any that won’t freeze you,” he said, honestly, gently.

They all followed Sokka and Yue, and Sokka had offered his elbow and Yue took it with a grace and warmth that sent Sokka’s heart running too fast for him to breathe.

She leaned in to him, even.

Sokka wondered if he’d frozen to death during his Marking.

But when they arrived, Yue went to the fire, and she lifted her thick, warm outer layer off, and then, with care, loosened the top of her dress and dropped it to her waist.

Sokka’s breath _stopped._

She had his blue boomerang over her shoulder blades—its elbow pointed to where the moon lay on him, and below it was the whale tooth sword, and then his other, more bludgeon-ready weapon.

Sokka couldn’t help it, he reached for her Markings, most primarily his boomerang, before he realized he was doing it.

Her skin shivered under his touch and she made a soft, surprised noise, but she never protested as he traced the weapon from one end to the other, until he came to his senses and saw the goosebumps rising on her arms.

He struggled to remember what his father had said, about how to do this.

He helped her pull the dress back to its appropriate place, and helped her get back in to all of her coverings, and then he dropped to one knee, bowed his head to the one that was up, and reached over his back.

He laid his weapons at her feet.

“Princess Yue,” he started, and he was shaking, feeling lost and sad and _joyful_ all at the same time, there was _too much_ in his brain, including his other Marks.

He wanted his father here, and his mother, and even Gran-Gran, but…

But at least he had Katara.

So he took a deep breath, keeping bowed for just a few more seconds, before he lifted his head to meet her eyes. “I would be honored, if you would accept me as yours, Marked by the Spirits.”

Yue looked as shocked as Sokka, and her eyes went from him, to the weapons she had seen a hundred times in the quiet of her room, before she dressed for the day.

She thought of the moon on the back of his neck, and her heart soared, but she knew.

Her father had told her, very gently, that he had another Mark. That he knew to whom it belonged.

But Yue saw in Sokka the future she had thought she’d never get to have, for what little her heart could give her.

She knew—she felt it in her bones—that something was coming.

Sokka carried two Marks.

But she still knelt before him, bowing her head in turn, and then met his eyes, holding back the tears that wanted to join her shaking smile. “I accept,” she said, softly.

Sokka got to his feet first and then helped her to hers, and he hesitated, and then curled his arms around her, pulling her in to him, because he _needed_ to, just for that moment.

Yue, for her part, went more than willingly, ducking her head down to bury it in his neck, and the tip of her nose was cold, but she nuzzled him gently and relished in the warmth of him, shutting out everything, just for a little while.

Arnook waited until he had managed to school his features in to a more neutral position, because he _knew_ what that moon meant, he knew there was something so much more going on, he knew something was coming, he had _known_ for years.

“Sokka,” he said, quietly. “Come with me. I don’t know how your people are married in the South, but you will carve a betrothal necklace for my daughter,” he said, as steadily as he could. “We will present you tomorrow.”

Sokka was so surprised by Arnook’s quick approval that he didn’t quite speak—he blushed, first.

But Yue—a woman, he would soon learn, who was gifted with wisdom and maturity beyond her years—gently leaned in to him and kissed his cheek, only once. “I am so glad it is you, Sokka,” she said, in that soft, warm voice of hers.

Sokka mellowed and blushed at the same time, and he nodded.

“Avatar, I will escort you to the room you will share with Sokka tonight,” Arnook said, and Sokka took that as the _you should step away now, Sokka_ that it was.

Yue then turned to Katara. “I would be honored if you would stay with me tonight, sister,” she said, a little seeking. “I heard your Marks are large. It would be my honor to offer you my bath for tonight—warm water is a balm for them.”

Katara almost wanted to beg to stay with Aang and Sokka, instead, but something stopped her. So she nodded, “Thank you very much, Yue.”

She didn’t see Aang glance mournfully after her, or hear Sokka stuttering about how he knew nothing about betrothal necklaces.

But Yue led her in to the grand palace and Katara was given a very warm cup of tea, and then led to Yue’s own room.

“Let me help you,” she said, very softly. “They’ll have already started the bath.”

Katara didn’t realize it, but she was _sore._ Every inch of her back, and her leg, and her chest—

It hurt like she’d been punched several times, and then instead of healing the wound, like she’d just frozen it, to try to reduce the pain, and that it’d backfired.

It was also a fact that Katara hated the sexist ways they all acted, and how Yue just _took it._

But…

But Yue and Sokka were _Marked_ for each other.

Katara couldn’t resent that, because she already knew that Sokka had been smitten since the moment he _saw_ Yue.

So she took a deep breath and nodded, and Yue actually _had_ to help pull off her thick coat, and then her dress and all the layers under it, because Katara could barely move her arms sometimes—it pulled the skin on her shoulder blades, which felt hypersensitive.

“I didn’t realize you had so many,” Yue whispered. “You must be in a lot of pain.”

Katara grimaced. “I wasn’t thinking about it until now,” she admitted. “It feels like a burn.”

But Yue nodded, and she escorted Katara in to the adjacent room, where there were servants quietly maintaining the water temperature. “It’ll hurt, when you first get in,” she said, softly. “ You might want to start with your other leg, and then slowly put your Mark in.”

The servants bowed and left, and Katara, though embarrassed, finished undressing.

Yue smiled at her. “Just us,” she assured Katara. “Give me a moment.”

Yue stripped off her coat, as well, and then stood at the edge of the bath. “There’s a step right there,” she said, gesturing. “Hold on to me. It’s quite a shock, to start.”

Katara stepped in with the leg that didn’t have the dragon on it, and the water was _so nice,_ if she hadn’t been afraid of how intensely the Marks would burn, she would have just _jumped_ in.

But she slowly set her other leg in to the water, and the _moment_ that the dragon’s tail sunk beneath the water, she hissed, her eyes watering.

Yue just held her, however. “You’re doing good,” she said. “I cried.”

Katara laughed, but it was broken and on the edge of a sob. “You probably had to go all at once, with it on your back,” she muttered.

“I did,” she admitted, quietly. “I hated it. I expected my Mark to be tied to one of the politician’s sons,” she said, very quietly. “I hated him, whoever he was.”

Katara did laugh, this time, and managed to lower her leg the rest of the way in, her eyes watering so much that it finally ran over. “You know, as sexist as these bastards are,” she started, unable to keep the words in, with the pain, and all her anger, and her _fear,_ “I hope you know Sokka’s not like that. He’ll actually care about you,” she said.

Not that she had to sell Yue on him—she had seen the relief on Yue’s face, when Sokka had gone in to hug her.

Yue was quiet for a moment, and she let Katara step lower, to the bottom of the bath, before she let go of the waterbender. “I know,” she said, very quietly. “I hope you know they’re not…they’re not so bad,” she tried.

Katara snorted.

“I know,” Yue admitted.

Katara took a deep breath and, very slowly and carefully, sunk down in to the water, clutching the side of the bath as it rose up and burned at all her Marks.

“Spirits! It’s so hard,” she hissed, and she looked at Yue, who’d settled on the edge of the bath. “How did you—”

“All at once,” Yue said. “I got it over with.”

Katara gritted her teeth, then counted to ten in her head, and dunked her whole body under the water.

She couldn’t scream, but she did, deep in her throat, until she had to surface, and she felt the tears come as soon as she wasn’t under the water.

They were cold in comparison to the water, and Yue smiled sympathetically.

“It’ll take a bit. Does your leg still burn?”

Katara tried to focus on anything _other_ than the pain in her back, and her chest (somehow, that one hurt worst of all), and she took a deep breath. “Not as much,” she admitted, and she took several deep breaths, realizing that, slowly, she was adapting.

Yue nodded. “I’ll get the soap, now. Try not to heal yourself, if you can,” Yue added, and she stepped away.

Katara hadn’t thought of that, but she took a deep breath and just waited, afraid to look at the Mark on her chest.

Yue came back with a small vial, and the soap, and she uncorked the vial. “This should help,” she said, softly. “It’s a rare oil—Yagoda used it on me when I was first Marked.” She dumped the vial in the water, rolled her sleeve up, and then churned the water in the bath to stir the oil in.

It smelled good, and Katara inhaled deeply, letting it soothe away the headache she didn’t know she had.

Katara washed off as she normally did, but avoided the Marks until last.

She carefully wiped at the dragon, first, and it was sore and stinging and she went over it as gently as she could. “Thank you for your help, Yue,” she said, as the pain finally began to settle, and her head began to clear.

Yue gave her a beautiful, sincere smile. “I’m happy to help you, Katara,” she said, softly. “Thank you for coming—for bringing Sokka,” she whispered.

This time, Katara actually stopped and looked up at Yue, and she heard the sadness in those words. “Is something wrong? I know my brother’s a doofus, but he’s an okay guy, especially if you give him a chance,” she said, feeling scared, and maybe a little indignant.

Only a little, because Katara was scared of meeting her Marked.

“It’s not that,” Yue said, instantly, and she was shaking her head. “It’s…a lot of things,” she whispered. “Can I tell you a secret?”

Katara put down the cloth she was using to cleanse the dragon—it was bleeding, just a little bit, but that was natural, she remembered her father saying. “Of course, Yue!”

“I think…I think I’m going to die soon,” she breathed.

Katara felt her heart stop. “Is something wrong? I can heal you—I’d be happy to—”

“No,” Yue whispered, as though anyone might hear her, as though the world itself was listening in on her barely-there words. “Something is going to happen,” she said, too quietly. “I’ve known it for a long time. I think…I think this war will come here,” she explained, and her eyes were rimmed with tears, but she didn’t cry. “I think, when it does—when they come in, I’ll—”

“Yue, I won’t let anything happen to you,” she said, immediately, because _no way was she going to let Sokka’s heart get broken._

Or Yue’s.

“I don’t think it’s that,” Yue said, and her voice sounded tight. “I think…something awful is coming, it’s not just the Fire Nation, it’s…it’s something else. I think I’m going to be needed, and I would never turn my back on my people.”

Katara was puzzled and lost and feeling _helpless,_ because there was something to that.

She’d met a good few Fire Nation people, and not all of them were reckless maniacs or murderers, but the worst ones…

The worst ones _would_ do terrible things to get their way.

She thought of how Aang had told them about Zhao lighting all his boats ablaze, just trying to kill Aang, how he hadn’t _cared_ for any collateral damage.

She bit her lip. “I’ll do what I can to help,” she said, and she meant that. It was a promise.

Yue sniffled, very, very quietly, but she nodded.

Then, she looked at the cloth Katara had put down. “Can I help you with your back?”

Katara let her change the subject, because…it scared her.

It scared her to think that Yue believed this so intently.

“I’d appreciate that,” she said, softly and she moved closer, grabbing the cloth, and Yue took it.

She was even more gentle than Katara on her sore skin, and the waterbender closed her eyes as Yue worked.

But her voice was very soft when she spoke over Katara’s shoulder, “Is it true that Sokka has two different Markings?”

Katara jumped, and Yue apologized, as though it was her fault, but Katara swiftly shook her head with a dismissive, “You didn’t hurt me,” before she took a breath. “Yeah.”

Yue let out a breath, and it took her a moment. “My father suggested you know who was attached to his other Mark.”

Katara hesitated, but she nodded. “Her name is Suki,” she admitted, very quietly. “We met her toward the start of all this. She’s one of the Kyoshi Warriors.”

Yue paused as she washed away the blood beading on Katara’s skin, and she hesitated. “Do you like her?”

“She’s cool,” Katara admitted. “She actually managed to capture us all—she was defending her home. She’s strong. I don’t know much about her, though,” she added. “She’s the kind of woman the men here would hate.”

Yue had the grace to laugh at that, and she finally started wiping gently at Katara’s Mark again. “I’d like to meet her, one day,” she said, softly. “She sounds…good.”

Katara didn’t know how to take that, how to appropriately respond to the idea that Yue could just… _accept_ that Suki was _also_ Marked for Sokka.

But Yue was also graceful and giving and gentle.

Maybe…maybe she thought she was going to die because Sokka had two Marks.

Katara made a mental note to try to banish the thought.

She hissed softly when Yue took the cloth along the lower end of her Mark, and Yue gave another soft apology. “Had worse,” Katara murmured. “Thank you for cleaning it.” Yue hummed softly and worked on the other side. “I bet Suki would knock some sense in to these guys,” she said, after a long moment. “Maybe after you and Sokka get married, Aang and I can take you guys to Kyoshi.”

She was trying to convince herself that Sokka’s Mark for Suki would light up after he was officially married to Yue, that this was just a step, and that all three of them would settle in and be happy together.

Maybe after the war was over, and peace was settled, they could have the weird family that Katara pictured for Sokka, with a few kids that were as tough as Suki, as loving as Yue, and as goofy as Sokka.

It was a nice picture.

Yue smiled behind Katara as she gave a last sweep over the blades in her back, gentle and careful as ever, “You think she’d like me? She sounds like my opposite,” she admitted, and she offered the cloth over Katara’s shoulder.

“You’re both strong,” Katara said, sinking back in the water, and it stung again, but not long after, the pain eased off, and she let out a quiet breath, “and you want to help your people. I think you have enough in common,” she said, honestly.

Yue watched Katara move to the edge of the water again, and she sat up, and Yue saw that the Mark between her breasts was still _black._

Well, black and gray.

It looked like a warm, flickering flame, but its edges were black, and its center was varying shades of gray, as though it should have been lit with the natural reds, oranges, and yellows of fire.

She averted her eyes, however. “Maybe so,” she said, but she was proud that Katara had seen what the men of her tribe often refused to admit—Yue wanted the best for her people, and she would do what she could to achieve that. “Would…would your parents…mind, if Sokka…?”

Katara froze, for a thousand reasons.

The water chilled around her as she tried to think, tried to breathe, tried to blink back tears that hit her so _hard_ and _so fast_ that she almost vomited from it.

“Our dad,” she managed to choke out, and Yue looked so surprised, Katara could have breathed on the poor girl and she would have fallen from the edge of the bath. “Our dad would like you both,” she managed, and then her voice broke, “as long as you loved Sokka.”

And _then_ Katara cried.

Yue had no idea why, of course—she _couldn’t_ have known, in any way.

So Katara took as many deep breaths as she could, calming herself down as quickly as possible, knowing Yue wouldn’t understand, and that she hadn’t meant to hurt her.

It still took several minutes, and only after she had managed to clutch at her mother’s necklace tightly enough to choke herself did she begin to relax.

She rubbed her face and shook her head when she began to calm, feeling embarrassed, but also irreparably _lonely._ She took a final breath, and then smiled at Yue, though the expression was intensely sad. “I’m sorry,” she said, very quietly. “It’s just…when I was a little girl, I always…I always expected my parents to be with me, when…when I received my Marks,” she whispered, and she clutched at the necklace. “My father is off fighting the war, and my mother…she…she was killed in a raid, when I was little,” she gasped. “I always thought I’d have them here—I thought they would be with me to meet my Marked, I thought my mother would teach me about being a wife—about being a mother—and I thought my father would—he would probably try to comfort me when he saw how my Marks look—but—”

She was crying again, but it was softer, because she had already cried _so_ much. “And these Marks—they must belong to a firebender—” She gasped softly, burying her face in her hands and then let out a little whimper. “I’m scared,” she breathed.

To her credit, Yue didn’t flinch, and when Katara’s outburst ended, she shifted around the bath, and she gently laid her hand on the younger woman’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she said, softly. “I understand wanting your parents here,” she added.

Katara nodded, and she touched Yue’s hand on her shoulder, letting out a breath. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Yue retreated to her original position, but she was smiling. “Thank you for sharing that with me,” she said in return. “I appreciate your trust.”

Katara nodded, slowly, and then smiled. “Well, you’re practically my sister now—and whatever I think of some of the customs here, I’ll stand by you,” she said.

Yue grinned, but then gave another glance at the Mark on her chest. “Do you think that Mark on your chest is for someone else, like your brother’s?”

Katara hesitated for a long moment, taking a deep breath, and then glanced down at her chest, and paused for just a moment, before she reached up to feel it.

It was, by far, the most sensitive of her Marks, and despite the hot water, it was intensely sore and sensitive, and felt like the flame itself was its own, resulting burn.

There was more blood seeping from this one, too, and she reached for the cloth, grimacing as it scraped over the skin. “I don’t know,” she said, once she’d wiped the blood away, and could see the mark.

It wasn’t in color—but it wasn’t faded at all, like the Mark on Sokka for Suki—his wasn’t in color, but it was also dimmer than Yue’s moon.

It also wasn’t faded like her father’s mark—his was in full color, but it was dimmed, as though it had been in the sun too long.

It was vividly pigmented, but the color just wasn’t there.

She didn’t know what that _meant._

“I guess…I’ll find out, one day,” she murmured, very softly. “I don’t know anybody who uses dual swords, anyway.”

Well, Jet, but she’d rather spend her entire life alone, if _he_ was the bastard she was set to marry, no matter _what_ the spirits said.

 _And_ he wasn’t likely to be hers, because he’d never have any association with any dragons, because they were so symbolic of the Fire Nation.

Even if they were supposedly extinct, by now.

Yue nodded, but Katara finally stood, and she carefully whisked the water from her skin—one of the few things she’d mastered, because cold was a _killer_ at home.

She managed to get dressed, feeling a little bit less sore, and Yue followed her back in to her room, and Yue called for a servant, and when the woman returned, she had two warm cups of tea. “I asked for a painkiller and something to help you sleep,” Yue said, very softly.

Katara took the tea, taking a deep breath in, and it smelled pungent. “Thank you so much, Yue,” she said, softly. “I needed that,” she added.

Yue smiled, “You’ve been with two boys for a while. I’m sure it’s nice to have your own time.”

Katara laughed, but she also shook her head, “It’s not the worst thing. I’ve lived with Sokka my whole life,” she said, and she took a sip of her tea, and it was much more bitter than she expected, but she knew it would help.

Her whole body ached, especially the spot on her chest, but even small movements pulled the skin on her back.

The least painful one was on her leg, perhaps because she wasn’t moving around that way.

Yue settled on her bed, and then patted the space beside her. “He seems…funny,” she ventured, not really sure what to say.

Katara, however, rolled her eyes, “Well, he thinks he is,” she said, but there was a fond smile on her face. “He’s right sometimes.”

Yue looked surprised, but she smiled. “Will you tell me about him?” Her voice was quiet, and almost small—a little timid. “I’m not—scared. But I’m nervous. Please?”

Katara, to her credit, was only surprised for a half a moment, before she began to smile, and then nodded, and though it hurt, she adjusted on the bed, and while drinking her tea, she told Yue as much as she could about Sokka—about his goofy moments, but also his heart, and his courage.

They both shared Yue’s bed that night, whispering until they fell asleep.

Katara had always wanted a sister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there we go!
> 
> I admit I don’t remember perfectly what the timeline is, as to when Hama was taken from the Southern Tribe, versus how old Katara’s parents are, but Katara says that Hama reminds her of Gran-Gran, and in the flash-back, she looks maybe around Kya’s age? But she might have been a little older.
> 
> (Plus, I like the idea of Hakoda _protecting_ Kaya’s markings on his body—if you want a particular excuse, we’ll say it’s because Hakoda was set to be chief, so he was forced to accept his marks early, due to the raids.)
> 
> No Zuko, yet, but I have plans for him—and his Markings. They’re a huge part of why I actually wanted to write this story, anyway, so...I’m very excited to get to that point, but all things in time!
> 
> What do you all think? Is it interesting enough to want more?
> 
> I don’t have a beta—I reread and edit at the same time that I post, so if you notice any particular errors, please tell me!
> 
> Thank you all for reading!


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _DISCLAIMER:_** I do **_NOT_** own _Avatar: The Last Airbender,_ or any of its contents, characters, themes, or ideas. I make absolutely no profit off this—I’m only writing for fun.
> 
> I...honestly cannot believe the response I got on this.
> 
> I think it’s literally the _biggest_ response I’ve gotten on...basically _anything,_ and especially on a first chapter of anything.
> 
> I’m absolutely dumbfounded. I really am.
> 
> Thank you guys _so much._ Seriously. I’ve been on a high since everything started rolling in! I’m overwhelmed—I never dreamed the response would be like this!
> 
> Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
> 
> Now, that said, this chapter is a little...well, honestly, it might be a little filler, but I always wanted there to be more to the arc within the Northern Water Tribe.
> 
> But, off you go! I hope you enjoy!

Katara felt like she might rip her skin open if she moved, from the moment her eyes opened. She could feel the blood on her skin, barely dried, and her shoulders felt chafed in ways they never had before.

The worst part was her chest—shifting at all felt the skin pull and hitch and  _ burn,  _ and she was thankful that Yue’s bed was layered in soft fabrics—if she was sleeping on the ground, she might have been paralyzed.

Or, her body might not have hurt so much, with the numbing, cooling effect.

She wondered if it was supposed to be this sore—if her body was supposed to feel like she might tear it apart if she breathed too deeply.

She didn’t want to roll to her back—she was afraid she would smear blood all over her clothes, and possibly Yue’s bed.

Yue woke up not long after Katara and got to her feet, and she turned to Katara. “Are you alright?”

“Sore,” she murmured. “Feels like my back is going to rip open.”

Yue helped her get to her feet, and the brunette stumbled on her feet, and Yue caught her. “Do you want me to get you something for the pain?”

Katara shook her head, taking a sharp, deep breath. “No, I’m okay—I just need a second,” she muttered. “Did yours hurt the next day?”

Yue smiled wryly. “A couple of weeks,” she said. “You shouldn’t use your healing on it—just keep it clean. Part of the ritual,” she said.

Katara groaned. “That’s...great,” she muttered, but of course, her sarcasm and disappointment were audible.

Yue laughed, and Katara did, too, not long after. “I’ve had worse. Like Sokka’s dirty socks,” she said, grinning.

Yue’s nose curled, but then she began to giggle. “More reason to be thankful I’m a princess, I guess,” she replied, teasing in turn.

Katara let that wash over her, and Yue helped her wash the blood off her back, and then the two dressed and headed for breakfast.

Aang and Sokka weren’t up yet—not surprising, due to Sokka heading to carve a betrothal necklace, which might have kept Aang up, after all.

They talked while they ate, and Yue talked about their culture and lives, their traditions—talked about  _ life. _

Katara talked about how tiny the South Pole was, and about how they’d grown up in tents, and how the “entire village” was the elderly, the women, and the children—that the men had gone to war, so she and Sokka were the ones taking care of the village.

Aang arrived first, piling his plate high with food when he arrived, rubbing his eyes.

He looked at Katara, and then his eyes darted away, and he piled  _ too much  _ food on his plate, slowing down deliberately.

Katara frowned at him,  _ knowing  _ something was wrong. She bit her lip softly, and then made her decision. “Good morning, Aang.”

He still didn’t respond well to too much pressure, so better to let it come out on its own.

Aang didn’t look at her, and took too long to sit down, and he couldn’t sit across from Yue, so he  _ had  _ to sit by Katara.

Yue, however, had a much more pressing question. “Um, is Sokka alright?”

Aang blinked, and then glanced at Katara again, and then finally looked at Yue again. “Well, he kind of...he’s been up all night,” he said, carefully. “He’s not very good at the necklace thing.”

Katara laughed, unable to help it, and she tried to cover her mouth. “He’s not the best artist.”

Aang tried not to snicker, but it came out anyway. “He was practicing for hours before he started on the necklace.”

Katara grinned, quietly laughing, but Yue was blushing, a warm, surprised smile on her face. “He didn’t need to do that,” she whispered. “He didn’t need to do  _ anything. _ I accept him for mine—our Marks are all I need.”

Aang went quiet, again.

“He wants to,” Katara said, with a worried glance at Aang. “He’ll spend days on it, if you let him.”

Aang took a too-big bite of food, and spoke when he had only half of it down, “Sokka wouldn’t skip breakfast,” he mumbled around his food.

Katara really  _ did  _ stare at him, this time. “Maybe not,” she muttered, but she looked suspicious. What was  _ with  _ Aang?

She ate a little bit, wincing as her skin pulled along her shoulders, but she took a breath against the pain.

It wouldn’t be long before she barely noticed it anymore.

Aang talked about everything  _ but  _ Sokka and Yue, and Marks.

He talked about being ready to start waterbending, but he didn’t quite look at Katara.

She was getting  _ frustrated. _

_ What the hell!? _

But Sokka stumbled in the door when she was most of the way through grumpily chewing her food, now more angry with Pakku and all the sexism than  _ ever,  _ and it was only how utterly  _ exhausted  _ he looked that distracted her from wanting to use the water whip on Aang for being so insensitive.

He  _ knew,  _ after all, how much waterbending meant to her.

Or, he should’ve.

But when Sokka spotted them, his face flushed red, and he tripped over his own feet, but he scrambled up, and moved toward them, slowed, rushed, then stopped, and finally  _ walked  _ to the table, looking flushed and flustered and fidgety.

He stopped beside Yue, and he hesitated, and then looked at Katara, and then Aang, and then further away, at Arnook.

Then, he took a deep breath, and he bowed to Yue. “Yue, would you like to go for a walk?”

Yue blushed, but she nodded and reached for him, and Sokka gave her his arm, and they walked to Arnook.

Katara didn’t hear what was said, but she saw the old men around Arnook scowling at Sokka, and then, her brother disappeared with Yue.

Aang jumped to his feet as soon as Pakku started toward them, and he  _ rushed  _ toward the old master, and Katara was left alone, seething again.

She couldn’t bear to finish her food, and without  _ anyone  _ else she could talk to, she headed toward the healing huts.

Elsewhere, Yue and Sokka approached Appa, and Sokka asked if she’d go with him for a ride.

Yue’s heart was beating so fast, she felt dizzy, but she still agreed, and Sokka took Appa off the ground, urging him to fly in a lazy circle around the edge of the city.

When that was done, he climbed back to the saddle, and saw Yue curled up on herself, probably unprepared for the cold wind. He sat in front of her, to block some of the wind, and he smiled, even though he was blushing. “I, uh...this isn’t...what we do in the Southern Water Tribe,” he said, with barely a stutter, but he pulled the necklace out of his pocket, glad his gloves hid a little bit of his shaking. “But...I—I hope you like it,” he whispered.

Yue could see that Sokka was red all the way in to his ears, and down in to the collar of his coat.

It was endearing in the best way, and she  _ adored  _ how much he seemed to care, so she took the necklace with care.

It was not nearly as elegant as Katara’s—indeed, it was almost crude, but…

She loved it.

He’d chosen a stone that was gray and white, and had worn little spots away, not entirely unlike the true shape of the moon.

But it wasn’t just the moon.

He had carved his boomerang in to the stone, and painted the stone very, very carefully—and she saw that he’d sealed it, too, and strung it so carefully—

“Sokka, I love it,” she breathed, and she squeezed his hand, clutching the precious item in her hand. “Would you…?”

She held the item up, reaching up to lift her hair out of the way, scooting her hood back, and Sokka was so stunned, at first, that he didn’t move.

And then he stuttered, but his eyes lit up, and he scrambled around her, taking the necklace, and he gently fastened it around her neck, and he returned to her, and Sokka flushed, seeing it nestled against her collar.

Yue was smiling. “What do you think?”

“You’re beautiful,” he said, not needing to even  _ think  _ about that.

Yue blushed, but she took his hand. “Thank you so much, Sokka.” She pressed her fingers to the stone he’d so diligently carved, relishing the weight against her skin, the way the ribbon was warming with time.

Sokka flushed, but he held her hand in turn, and then he was digging in his pocket again. He withdrew a long, narrow item, and he took a breath. “At home—” he stopped, and he took a deep breath, and Yue saw a surprising thing—a single tear, that spilled over, and then got wiped away by his gloved fist.

He took a shuddering breath, closed his eyes, and then looked back at her. “You—your father won’t approve,” he said, softly, “but back home, to prove our worth to our Marked—we have to prove we can hunt and kill and cook enough to support a family,” he said, and he hesitated. “I’m still learning—but...we also give our intended a knife.” He let go of her gently, and he unsheathed the knife—it was finely sharpened bone, its handle made of wood, bound in the leather of one of his first kills, hunted with his father. The sheath was also made of leather—all items that had been made from his very first kill with his father.

He took another breath. “This—this was made from my first kill,” he said, softly. “I want you to have it—at least, until I can make you your  _ own  _ knife,” he added, offering her the blade. “I hope you never need it, but it’s yours—because a good husband should trust his wife to protect herself—and their family—at his side.”

Yue looked astonished, and she started to smile, and then she accepted the knife. She looked at the weapon—clearly made many years before, for smaller hands.

But no one from her tribe would have ever even  _ dreamed  _ of giving the princess of the tribe a  _ weapon,  _ even one that would do very little damage in her inexperienced hands.

But she understood that this was important to him—and that he was giving her the weapon as a sign of trust, as an act of giving her a form of her own independence.

It was, in many ways, far,  _ far  _ more precious than the engagement necklace.

It was from  _ him,  _ not because he was obligated in to it. It was a tradition, but it was  _ his  _ tradition—one that he hadn’t even truly completed, but he’d made it a  _ promise. _

In truth, Yue could not have been happier—she had imagined the worst of the man Marked for her, because no man of her tribe would  _ love  _ her. They would never  _ care  _ about her or  _ appreciate  _ her—not the way she would want to be loved.

It would never be true.

But Sokka…

She took a deep breath and took the knife, and she noted the small strap on it.

She carefully hid it in the sleeve of her coat, and then took both of his hands, pulling him close, and she leaned her forehead in to his, and Sokka let out a shaking breath, but he leaned in to the touch.

He closed his eyes, and so did Yue, and for several long moments, the only thing that mattered was  _ this. _

This feeling, this moment, this  _ freedom. _

All that mattered was Yue, and Sokka, and the promise of their future, with each other.

At last, they both dropped down to Appa’s reins, and they settled in to each other, hip to hip, Yue laying her head on his shoulder, and they spoke softly.

They didn’t talk about his Marks, or Katara, or Aang, or how he’d have to leave.

They talked about his father, and how she would have to come to the Southern Tribe, and how much she’d love Gran-Gran, and his father, and how Hakoda would definitely have tried to talk some sense in to all these crazy men.

They talked about how Sokka would have to get used to the hunting and fishing traditions in the Northern Tribe, and how Yue would help him get used to all the political niceties, and she told him about the generals and all the things she’d learned from her father.

They talked until Sokka’s stomach could no longer be ignored, and they were both much too cold, but when they walked back in to the palace, they were both smiling, leaning in to each other, Yue’s arm curled in his elbow.

They ate lunch together, and Yue laughed at his awkward attempts at talking to Arnook about the non-existent political positions in the Southern Tribe, and she touched her necklace every time he laughed, and when her father gave a reluctant, not-quite-half-hearted smile.

At dinner, Sokka was seated beside Arnook, with Yue at his side, followed by Katara, and then Aang.

There was  _ another  _ feast this night, and this one was for Yue’s engagement.

Katara had tears in her eyes.

She clutched her own necklace, and wished for her father.

Aang was eerily silent.

Katara stayed with Yue for two weeks—and the two became fast friends, chatting before bed, with Yue often talking about Sokka well in to the night, especially at first.

She would clean the Marks on Katara’s back as she talked about Sokka’s bad jokes, and how hard he was trying to learn about their traditions, and how he’d actually shouted at one of the oldest generals for talking like women were of no value in society, and how he was glad Yue was getting married, so there was a man to take on the leadership position in the tribe.

Katara had started laughing, and had asked Yue for more details.

She told Yue about how sexist her brother had been, at one time, partially because all the men had left, and her father had made a big deal of Sokka looking after the entire tribe.

Katara’s back began to heal soon enough, though it felt like too long, because even her  _ healing  _ lessons were straining on the enormous Marks on her back.

She had stripped off her outer layers more than once, and laid on the ice for five minutes, just to have some kind of relief.

Aang never told her what was going on, but he at least started talking to her again, and when she was feeling better, she resumed her complaints about just learning how to  _ heal. _

Sokka, eventually, got fed up, and told her that Aang could just  _ teach  _ her when they left.

Katara’s eyes went so wide, they nearly popped from her head. “Why didn’t I think of that!?”

Aang lit up. “I can teach you at night! Then, I’ll have someone to practice with!”

Yue (who was, in fact, with them—the four of them tended to spend the evenings together, because Sokka was now tied to Yue, but also to Katara and Aang. They took the time together, being  _ kids,  _ just for a little while) looked torn. “But...that’s against the traditions,” she murmured.

Sokka looked at her, pausing, and then shook his head. “Not where we’re from,” he said. “And Katara is coming with us—and Dad would kill me if I just let her be defenseless, when I  _ know  _ she can fight.” He hesitated, and then glanced down at Yue’s ankle—where she’d promised to keep the knife, for emergencies—and then met her eyes. “I’d never forgive myself if someone I loved got hurt because I didn’t do everything I could to  _ help  _ them defend themselves.”

Yue dropped her eyes to her lap, and she laid her hand on the knife strapped to her leg, and then pressed her fingers to her betrothal necklace.

She clutched at her dress, and then gave only one, single nod.

Katara and Aang left to head outside—no reason to throw water or ice indoors, after all.

But, of course, nothing ever went the way it should have—Pakku discovered them, and told Aang he would no longer teach him.

Katara felt guilty, and resentful, and  _ angry. _

But when dawn came, she still begged Arnook to convince Pakku to take Aang back as a student.

Of course, then Arnook had the  _ gall  _ to say that maybe Pakku would take Aang back  _ if  _ Katara apologized.

It burned to even  _ think  _ of giving in to the sexist ideals.

She  _ hated  _ the idea.

Then Pakku said, in his sneering,  _ I’m-better-than-you  _ voice, “I’m waiting, little girl.”

That was  _ it. _

Yue couldn’t  _ believe  _ how the world  _ shuddered  _ to her anger—literally,  _viscerally—_ how much _power_ shook and _shattered_ the floor beneath them. She literally _ tore apart  _ the room, without any technique—just with her sheer  _ rage. _ “No!” Katara shouted, and the room trembled, “No way am I apologizing to a sour old man like you!”

She was shaking, herself, breathing hard, and she clenched her fists tighter than ever. “I’ll be outside if you’re man enough to fight me!”

And she stormed out, leaving the room in a deafening silence that echoed in her wake.

Aang tried to brush it off, but Sokka shook his head and indicated that she definitely wasn’t.

Not that he supported her acting entirely on her rage, but he understood it. He had known it would happen—maybe he even wanted it to pass, that she would shove it in the face of all these sexist pigs that a woman could do as much—or more—than any man there.

Sokka would bet on Katara any day.

Maybe she wouldn’t win  _ this  _ fight, but she’d give it her all—she’d never back down.

And that scared him, but he’d learned to trust her passion. It had gotten them out of as much as Aang’s airbending had.

But he still tried to talk her down, even though he knew it wouldn’t work, and got hit in the face with her parka in turn. Aang also tried to talk her down, but he went the wrong way about it—telling her not to do it for him.

Katara  _ wasn’t  _ doing it for him.

She was doing it for herself, for her own heart and her own mind and her own  _ strength. _

But when Pakku ignored her and told her to go back to the healing huts, Katara struck him with a water whip—in the back, as a warning, because she didn’t  _ believe  _ in striking an opponent from behind outside of active combat, but with Pakku—she almost  _ wanted  _ to hit him, with  _ all  _ her power.

He reacted, at last, and turned on her with a narrowed expression. “You want to fight so bad? Study closely,” he sneered.

What followed was a knock-down, drag-out fight, where Katara used every ounce of intelligence and innovation she had, even though he was working hard to knock her down at every turn.

She wouldn’t  _ let  _ him. Never!

She definitely managed to surprise him, more than once, but still, at the end of it, she was caught in a prison of ice, her heart beating out of her chest.

Even if he wouldn’t teach her, she’d gotten to see  _ a lot  _ of his skill and technique, and maybe she could adapt that in to her own.

But then, Pakku found her necklace—which had gotten knocked off in the fight.

Then, it was revealed that Kanna had  _ run away. _

She’d run away, despite being  _ Marked  _ for Pakku, despite his finely-crafted betrothal necklace.

She’d run, and married someone Unmarked, and had been  _ happy  _ without him.

Katara told him outright—she’d  _ known  _ Gran-Gran was Marked, but hadn’t settled for that. “She didn’t want to get stuck with all your stupid, sexist traditions!” She clenched her fists, gritting her teeth. “She didn’t want to be trapped in a life where she’d never have any freedom—where she’d never get to be herself!”

Maybe it was a far guess, but maybe it  _ wasn’t,  _ because Kanna was fiercely independent and sought to teach Katara and Sokka the same—and Hakoda, too. Kanna had always  _ encouraged  _ Katara, had always  _ wanted  _ to help her grandchildren.

Kanna had encouraged her, and  _ all  _ of their tribe, to be strong and independent on their own.

“Gran-Gran didn’t want to get locked in to a life she’d hate, no matter what the Spirits said!”

Katara was  _ furious,  _ but also  _ relieved. _

She didn’t  _ have  _ to accept her Marks. She didn’t  _ have  _ to.

Gran-Gran had never mentioned being from the Northern Tribe, she had never mentioned that her Marks were matched—she had just picked her own life and lived it  _ her  _ way.

Katara decided, then and there, that she could do the same, if she so chose—she didn’t have to settle for being saddled with a firebender.

Pakku, for the first time, looked... _ sad. _ Upset.

He stared at the necklace in his hand, and then turned to Katara, and offered her the item in an open palm. “You have her heart,” he said, too quietly. “Her independence.”

Katara took the necklace back and tied it around her neck almost  _ desperately. _ Maybe she should find a better way to keep it on—Zuko had used it against her, after all.

But then, she was quiet, and she shook her head. “You know, she  _ always  _ told me to practice. Even though I had no one—nothing—to teach me, she  _ told  _ me to learn, to practice, to do my  _ best. _ I learned  _ everything  _ on my own, until we got a waterbending scroll.”

She was self-taught, down to the core.

And, in truth, she’d basically held her own, against a  _ Master. _

Pakku spent several long seconds thinking, wondering, and he looked at Arnook, and Yue beside him. “I think, perhaps...this warrants a discussion.”

Arnook looked to Yue, then Sokka, and then Katara, and gave one single, solemn nod.

To his surprise, Sokka and Yue were brought in after only about fifteen minutes, and Katara and Aang were left outside, quietly bending water between them, but almost subdued—just  _ waiting. _

When Sokka and Yue exited, they said nothing—but then Pakku and Arnook followed, and Pakku bowed to Katara in the way of the Northern Water Tribe. “Katara, I would like to inform you that you are to be my very first  _ female  _ waterbending student, starting at dawn.”

Katara held back, for just a moment, her eyes darting to Sokka, then Yue.

Yue was smiling broadly.

At last, she returned the bow, and she let out a breath. “Thank you, Master Pakku.”

Pakku gave a curt nod, and Arnook did, too, and they took their leave. Then, Katara thudded in to Sokka, and then Yue, hugging both of them tightly.

“Thank you,” she whispered, over and over.

Sokka was blushing, but Yue smiled. “Well, if I’m being honest, it was for me, too,” she said, quietly. “I convinced my father to allow me to learn to fight, too.” She hesitated, and then took Sokka’s hand. “After what Sokka said, I...I couldn’t let him down.”

Sokka squeezed her hand, grinning broadly, but also blushing. “You wouldn’t,” he whispered.

Aang looked away from the display.

But Katara was smiling, and she touched her necklace. “I wish Dad could come up here—meet you, Yue,” she whispered.

Yue blushed, too, but she seemed excited by the prospect. “Perhaps...perhaps we could contact him, so he could be here for the wedding?” She paused, squeezing Sokka’s hand. “I know that might be after...everything,” she said, glancing at Aang, “but...maybe?”

Sokka nearly squirmed, but he squeezed her hand back, and then he actually wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her in to his chest. “I’d love that,” he whispered against her hair. “Dad would love it. He’d love  _ you,”  _ he whispered.

Katara felt the tears in her eyes, but it felt  _ good. _

When Yue and Katara went to bed that night, they stayed up whispering long in to the night, and Yue drifted off first.

Katara reached for the Mark on her ankle, thinking about everything that had happened.

The only Mark that was still sore was the one on her chest—but it didn’t hurt the same as when she’d first gotten it.

It was tender, true enough, but it almost seemed to ache and burn at random—sometimes it was hot as a fire, but other times it just  _ hurt,  _ like she’d been punched in the chest.

It was still in black and white and gray, too.

But the others were almost completely healed—they still needed just a little attention, and they ached now and again, but they were mostly finished—and, to her understanding, that was natural.

But if the Spirits wanted to give her a firebender…

She thought of Gran-Gran, and how she’d run away.

She hadn’t just taken all the sexism and the million boxes they wanted to put her in—she’d ignored her Markings and had made her own path.

And now, Katara and Sokka had come out of it.

Katara traced the Mark up her leg.

It was warm—warmer than the rest of her skin, but that was fractionally.  _ All  _ her Marks were strangely warm, and though they had settled a lot as they healed, she actually found the cold comforting.

She felt at the skin—slightly smoother than the rest—and traced the shape of the dragon up to her knee, trying to imagine what was coming.

A firebender that was also using blades?

Maybe someone like Jeong Jeong—someone who thought firebending was wrong, maybe someone who decided to leave it behind to try for peace.

But then, why would they still use weapons?

She let out a sigh.

Maybe she would follow her Gran-Gran’s footsteps. Maybe she’d leave it behind, and refuse to obey the Spirits.

She curled on her side, laying her hand on the Mark on her chest, until sleep settled on her unevenly.

She woke up, feeling her chest  _ hurting  _ like she’d just gotten Marked again—her heart was beating so, so fast, and she woke in a panic, sweat rolling off her body.

Her face hurt—her  _ body  _ hurt.

She felt like she’d lost a dozen fights, like she’d gotten beaten so badly that she was on the verge of death.

Yue woke, too, and she had to fight to calm Katara, and wound up calling for Yagoda.

Although there was no  _ visible  _ bruising or burns or  _ damage,  _ Yagoda still took the time to use her healing water across Katara’s whole body, citing that it did seem like something  _ had  _ happened, but not to Katara.

To her  _ Marked. _

As Katara laid there, breathing hard, feeling her body ache and tremble with pain, Yagoda carefully lowered the waterbender in to the pool of water, focusing on healing her  _ whole body. _

“Sometimes, Katara, the Spirits bind a person to their Marked  _ so strongly,  _ what happens to them, happens to  _ you. _ It can be very dangerous,” she said, gently, watching Katara wince. “Of course, the good side of this is that if  _ you  _ get healed, it can help your Marked.”

Katara was still gasping, trying to catch her breath. She could feel the tears rolling down her face, the pain surging so high that it felt like she might  _ shatter,  _ even in her face.

Yagoda dipped her under the water now and again, healing her face, but it still stung.

And something else—the Mark on her chest hurt so badly, she thought she might vomit.

And she was  _ scared. _

What had happened to her Marked?

Yagoda healed her until well after midnight, and when the pain finally began to fade (Yagoda said that it was partially because  _ Katara  _ was being healed, in fact), Katara reluctantly went back to bed, and only after she was given some very rare medication did she fall asleep.

Yue stayed up after she passed out, waiting for a time, before she finally trusted enough to sleep, too.

Katara was, therefore, reasonably exhausted—she slept too late—but Pakku then saw some faint bruising peeking from under her skin, under her jaw, around her mouth and eyes—it was faint, but it was definitely there.

They took it slow, the first day, but Katara was a remarkable student—much more remarkable than he had even guessed, despite her power and ingenuity when she fought him.

Still, when night fell, Katara all but died—she fell in to a deep sleep and had barely managed the bare bones of politeness before she collapsed.

Sokka began to worry that maybe it was a sign—maybe whoever had Marks to match hers, maybe he’d seen that she was Water Tribe, somehow, maybe they  _ knew  _ someone was coming this way and had protested…

So Sokka and Aang, around training for both of them (and Katara and Yue, often), spent time going on brief patrols to check the surrounding waters, watching for any signs of invasion.

Their worst fears came true when soot-laced snow began to fall, and Sokka took the news to Arnook and Pakku.

It had barely been two weeks since Katara and Yue had begun training.

Some of the other women of the tribe had decided to train, too, and they were, unfortunately, about to head in to a horrible, heavy battle.

Sokka pulled Yue aside, and they quietly took a moment together, holding each other, taking deep breaths as they faced the reality that war was heading for their doors.

Katara and Aang spent time helping to fortify the defenses at Pakku’s side, while Yue helped Yagoda (and some new-found and younger waterbenders) set up secure healing huts.

Sokka spent time with Arnook, briefing his generals on what they knew of Fire Nation tactics and skills, and the most haughty person there—Hahn—boasted about his non-existent knowledge about fighting and…

It turned out that the asshole had it in his head that  _ he  _ was supposed to be Yue’s betrothed, despite being Unmarked, and he’d been hounding her until Sokka showed up.

It was enough to nearly make Sokka punch him, but then, Yue entered the room and took his hands and he let the rest of it fall out of his head, especially when she wrapped her arms around his middle and held him, whispering that she was tired.

Sokka managed not to smirk at Hahn when he took Yue’s arm and led her out, and they both took a short break to eat.

When night finally fell, they set watches around the city, and Yue, Katara, Sokka, and Aang all got to rest overnight—but morning held no promises.

As they laid in the dark, trying to find sleep, Yue and Katara whispered to each other. “Are you still in pain?”

The whisper was quiet, almost breathless.

The  _ air  _ felt breathless.

“No, not really,” she breathed. “I guess they’re okay,” Katara whispered. “My Marks are all the same.”

Yue was quiet for a moment, thinking. “That’s good,” she returned. “The bruising is all gone from your face,” she added.

Katara laid there for a long moment, and she let out a breath. “I guess so,” she murmured.

But she paused for a long moment, and then let out a long, heavy breath. “Are you okay, Yue?”

This time, it was Yue’s turn to give a long pause, and she, too, let out a long breath.

Hers, however, was slightly shuddering.

“I’m...scared,” she whispered, very softly. “I’m afraid this is...what I was thinking about,” she murmured, a callback to the quiet confession she’d told Katara while they were cleaning up the new Markings. “I’m worried about Sokka—and you and Aang, too,” she whispered.

Katara’s breath caught, and she had to take several seconds to calm herself down, because she  _ knew  _ how much Yue meant to Sokka.

They’d spent all the time they possibly could together since that first day—as much as they had been allowed, in fact.

Sokka had quietly asked Katara if they should maybe go and get their father, because Sokka had wanted to marry Yue before they went back on their journey—as a promise to come back to her.

Katara had said nothing, but she knew how much it had meant to Sokka; she’d thought it wouldn’t be a bad idea.

But now…

So Katara turned on her side, watching Yue. “I promise, whatever happens—I’ll protect you, and Sokka, and Aang,” she said, and she meant it. After all, how could she do anything less?

Yue laid on her back for a long moment, and Katara watched a tear run down her face, but then she let out a trembling breath and nodded, just once.

“Thank you, Katara.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there we go! A little more time to see the relationship between Yue and Sokka (because, of course, it’s implied that they spend more time together than we see, but it’s not as impactful to the viewer as it is to Sokka, and I want to _feel_ their connection—and I want Katara to have a female friend, too.)
> 
> I also wanted the Southern Tribe to have traditions—and I sort of picture that Sokka wasn’t following because he was a kid who got shoved in to the “take care of the tribe!” position, so he was under a lot of pressure to be “the man” of the tribe, and with no male figures to look up to, it started to slip his mind. (Y’know, until Suki _knocked_ the sense back in to his head.) He’s overprotective and gets it in his head that he’s the only one who _can_ do those things.
> 
> (Hopefully that sort of explains his behavior? I just really _wanted_ to give the Southern Tribe its own tradition.)
> 
> I think the Marking—and its impact—is also important to establish, so I hope you’ll forgive me for taking a little extra time with this chapter.
> 
> But, that said, next chapter will roll a little faster, I hope, because I wanted to get the characters established in my head before I rushed in to the action.
> 
> I promise we’ll get some Zuko (at last!) in the next chapter, as well, but I am posting shortly after I finish any given chapter. I have a brand new job (the virus definitely tanked my old one, and I’m still getting my feet under me) that I’m getting used to, and I’m also writing a FFVIIR story, and I want to alternate between the two.
> 
> That said, I do need to take the time to settle in, watch the episodes, and transcribe the bits that I intend to use...or at least, I need to sit down and work on the chapters more intently.
> 
> My job should settle down a bit more soon (I’m still learning), and hopefully I’ll have a little more time on my hands.
> 
> I’m very excited to get to actually dig in to this story, properly—Zuko’s Marks, and the little changes I desperately want to make to fulfill my own wishes for the series.
> 
> So, what did you think? A little filler, but I think a little is necessary to get my head around the characters themselves.
> 
> I hope you lot liked it! Hopefully I’ll have another chapter up in about a week, if I have the time.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _DISCLAIMER:_** I do **_NOT_** own _Avatar: The Last Airbender,_ or any of its contents, characters, themes, or ideas. I make absolutely no profit off this—I’m only writing for fun.
> 
> Hi guys! I’m back—in a fashion, at least.
> 
> I’m not going to go in to a lot of detail until the note at the end of the chapter, but I’ll ask you to read that, please.
> 
> It will be a significantly longer note, and I do have an extremely important question at the end of it, so I’ll thank you for your feedback. (You can skip to the end note, if you want to get my explanation out of the way first, but that’s up to you!)
> 
> So, first, I want to let you know that, yes, I intend to continue/finish this fic. I’ve had it on my mind the whole time, and I promise, though it may take time, I will continue it!
> 
> Second, this chapter is significantly shorter, and isn’t quite like the two that preceded it, so I hope it isn’t a disappointment.
> 
> Anyway, off you go. Enjoy!

With dawn came the first attack, and Aang and Katara went out to meet it—they took the thing down with some effort, and Appa’s help, but then...they were both just  _ kids. _

Despite Katara’s astounding skill as a waterbender, she and Aang (and Appa, in truth) struggled to take down more than twenty ships—and though he’d protested her coming, at first (she couldn’t fly, after all, but Katara reminded him  _ she could make a boat out of ice if she had to,  _ and had looked angry at potentially being left out again), when dark began to fall and they headed toward the safety of the wall, Aang muttered exhausted thank-yous the whole time.

Together, they’d taken down trebuchets and punctured holes in the ships that would make them sink slowly enough for the crew to escape, and had washed many crew members overboard with waterbending.

Even other waterbenders had helped, but Katara and Aang moved faster than any of them, using Appa—the others tended to follow in their wake and tend to any cleanup as necessary.

Katara, still yet, crept atop the wall and worked with the other waterbenders to repair the wall where it’d been hit—an arduous task, in itself, but one that must be done.

At the end of it all, Sokka, Aang, Katara,  _ and  _ Yue collapsed in a pile in her bed, all so tired that sleep came without a single goodnight.

Sokka wriggled just enough to wrap his arm around Yue when he felt her shaking, and she turned in to his chest, but didn’t cry out loud.

She’d spent time helping in the healing huts, and Sokka had been running drills with the warriors unable to bend—he showed them techniques he’d seen and dealt with, and he was almost too tired to  _ breathe,  _ wired but exhausted, but...sleep.

He had to sleep.

When Yue settled, Sokka was the last to fall asleep.

But in the middle of the night, Katara stirred.

The flame in her chest felt strangely cold, and she  _ needed  _ to get to open air.

She scrambled from under Sokka and Aang (the former had half-rolled and had one leg over her knees, the other pinned to Yue, and the latter had managed to get his head on her stomach, his arm thrown over Sokka’s leg), and to carefully pull herself off the bed so she wouldn’t crush or disturb the others.

She ran to the nearest outlet she could, grabbing her coat on the way, gasping for air, feeling  _ exhausted,  _ but too nervous to sleep.

She began to calm, but then Yue was beside her. “You know, legend says the first waterbender was the moon,” she said, softly. “Our ancestors saw how it pushed and pulled the tides, and learned how to do it themselves.”

Katara was glad for the distraction, because she needed something,  _ anything  _ to take away from the strange feelings she was getting from the mark in her chest. “I’ve always noticed my waterbending is stronger at night,” she agreed.

Aang, half asleep, stumbled between them and leaned on the ledge of the overlook, his eyes barely open. He looked like he could have gone right back to sleep, then and there.

Yue talked about the spirits, and Aang—desperate—realized that maybe the  _ spirits  _ could help.

Yue led them to the spirit oasis, and she hesitated, wondering if she should grab Sokka on the way, and then looked at Katara. “We should let Sokka sleep, since he  _ can. _ ”

Katara agreed.  _ She  _ couldn’t sleep right now.

“How’d you slip out of his arm?”

“He rolled over,” Yue said, and there was something close to laughter in her voice when she continued, “He was mumbling about Momo saying mean things and food eating people.”

Katara laughed—she couldn’t help it. “It’s a recurring nightmare, that he isn’t at the top of the food chain,” she joked.

Yue laughed, too, but Aang was too antsy to join in.

When she led them through a tiny door, Katara stripped off the coat she’d put on just before Yue appeared, marveling at the warmth of the oasis, listening to the force of the waterfall, in  _ awe  _ of the space.

After only a little while longer, Aang sat before the pool, peering at the two koi fish circling each other in the pond.

When the Avatar State took hold, Yue panicked—but Katara reassured her.

But then, her blood ran cold. “Well, aren’t you a big girl now.”

Katara whirled on him, hands raised and ready to bend, “No!”

Zuko smirked, raising his own arms, “Yes.” He approached, looking at the three—the white-haired girl ran, but Katara didn’t budge. “Hand him over, and I won’t have to hurt you.”

But she stood her ground, and Zuko made the first attack—he leapt forward, throwing fire, and Katara countered at every turn. She even threw water right in his face, knocking him down, and yet it didn’t seem to bother him. “I see you’ve learned a new trick.” He paused, getting to his feet and turning back to her, “But I didn’t come this far to lose to you.”

Katara knocked him back again, wrapping him in ice, and he peered at her through the dome, speculating correctly—she’d found herself a master.

Zuko got a hand on Aang, but Katara threw him across the space, using vicious power to freeze him to the wall, and he almost  _ wilted,  _ nearly knocked out from the rush of it.

But, after waking up in the middle of the night, dawn came too fast, and it invigorated Zuko.

He needed almost no effort to knock Katara down, and he sneered at her, holding Aang. “You rise with the moon.  _ I  _ rise with the sun.”

And then he was gone, and Aang too.

Katara was almost sick with worry while they scoured the blank landscape for Aang—Zuko’s white outfit made him almost invisible, surely—and with every passing moment she felt colder. Surely Aang had to be freezing in this weather—he wasn’t conscious to airbend enough to hold his warmth.

And it was fast turning in to a  _ blizzard. _

Yue tried to comfort her—saying that, with the weather like this, Zuko couldn’t possibly get too far—but Katara wasn’t worried they’d get away.

She was worried they  _wouldn’t_ —which she voiced—because there was nothing like a blizzard at the poles.

She remembered them when she was little, when they had to stock up on food and got trapped in their homes for days—sometimes weeks—at a time, when the weather was at its worst.

She remembered the first time she felt like she was breathing ice, the way the wind picked up and the temperature dropped.

The thought still scared her, and she felt fear and chill cling to her, somewhere deep in her chest.

Then, Sokka spoke from Appa’s head, “They’re not gonna die in this blizzard,” he shouted over the wind. “If we know anything, it’s that Zuko never gives up.” He turned forward, after shouting over his shoulder, and raised his voice further, “They’ll survive—and we’ll find them.”

For once—just once, never again—Katara was grateful that Zuko was absolutely, resolutely, recklessly unyielding in his goals.

She might thank him for it, if she didn’t kill him once she found Aang.

When, at last, in the graying sky and sheer white snow, Katara saw a flash of light, she pointed it out, and they followed the streak through the sky, down toward a cavern sticking out of the sea of snow.

Zuko had Aang tightly bound and picked him up as though the boy weighed nothing—like he was no more than a baby moose-lion cub—and Katara jumped off Appa before he landed.

Zuko narrowed his eyes and dropped Aang, raising his arms to attack. “Here for a rematch?”

He was much too cocky for the circumstances, and Katara didn’t have the good humor to even smile at him—even sarcastically. “Trust me, Zuko, it’s not going to be much of a match.”

She deflected a puny fireball with barely a wave of her wrists, then sent a wave of snow at him—another fireball fizzled out—and lifted him with ice, and then slammed him—rather unforgivingly—back to the snow.

The impact knocked him out, and Sokka rushed over, cutting Aang free, commenting on the good quality of the rope.

Aang insisted that they had to rush back to the oasis, that the spirits were in trouble, but he stopped once they were all on Appa’s back.

He insisted they couldn’t leave him here—they couldn’t—and he jumped down, grabbed the unconscious body, and deposited him in the saddle with the others, despite Sokka’s insistence that they could leave Zuko to die, because  _ Zuko  _ didn’t care if  _ they  _ lived.

Aang wasn’t sure about that—nor was Katara. Zuko didn’t exactly go out of his way to try to kill them—collateral damage, yes, but he was single-minded in his pursuit of Aang.

Still, there was no debate—they tied up the prince on the way, and then  _ something  _ happened to the moon.

Yue felt faint, and Aang echoed the sentiment—and, for once, Katara couldn’t feel the call of the moon—or the  _ water,  _ which made her feel…

Awful. Dead.

It was like not  _ breathing. _

Yue told them, in the strangled light of the moon, that she owed the moon spirit her life—that she was sick and weak when she was born—on the verge of a stillborn child. The healers had been unable to help, so her father had pleaded with the spirits, and brought her to the oasis, and put her in the pond there.

The moon spirit had given her  _ life,  _ and her hair had turned white, her eyes blue as moonlight on the ocean.

She was named for the moon.

Sokka felt his chest tightening, somehow—for some reason, one he couldn’t name.

Zhao had the moon spirit in a bag, away from the oasis—and when they threatened to fight, he held his steaming fist to the wriggling sack.

Katara had no power—Aang and Sokka were the only ones who could fight with everything they had.

She made a mental note to force Sokka to teach her to fight, at least a little.

But then, a familiar voice—with an unfamiliar anger—spoke.

General Iroh spoke out against Zhao’s plan, too, and Zhao brushed him off.

A mistake, Katara was certain—Zuko certainly wasn’t the best bender, but there was something quiet about Iroh that spoke of power and experience—and Zhao was an impatient fly, where Iroh was a patiently-waiting, innocent-looking carnivorous plant.

He’d snap his teeth around any who dared near his mouth.

Indeed, the old general made his threat—he would return ten-fold any punishment Zhao offered.

Zhao let the fish out of its trap, but only moments later—barely a breath—a flash of fire burned across the pond.

The world  _ blackened. _

Iroh took down every man Zhao brought in a few short moves—so fast it was blinding—and Zhao  _ ran  _ like the coward he was.

Zuko followed, while the Avatar merged with the spirit of the ocean, wreaking terrible destruction on  _ any  _ who dared show disrespect to the spirits.

Zuko attacked—brash, but reasonably so.

Zhao had tried to assassinate him.

And Zhao had  _ nothing  _ on Zuko.

Despite the fight with Katara (at least, he was calling it a fight—he would  _ never  _ say it had taken a single blow to knock him out), Zuko was ten times the fighter Zhao was, and he took down the supposed Admiral with little effort on his part.

And deep in his heart, Zuko was still kind, and giving, even if he’d nearly had it burned out of him, and he tried to  _ help. _

But Zhao, stubborn, foolish, and proud, refused, and the spirit of the ocean dragged him to…

Well, even  _ Zhao  _ probably had no idea where he was, Zuko would wager.

In the oasis, Iroh mourned the moon spirit, setting the poor fish back in the water, feeling desolate.

But then…he turned to Yue, realizing. “You have been touched by the moon spirit. Some of its life is in you,” he whispered, feeling hopeful, but devastated.

It was far too much to ask of a young woman—one with a whole life ahead of her.

But he didn’t need to ask—she realized it, and straightened, feeling proud.

And scared.

“Yes, you’re right…” She took a breath. “It gave me life.” She was already decided, but she could not look at Sokka. She couldn’t. She closed her eyes, set her shoulders, and met Iroh’s gaze, “Maybe I can give it back.”

She got to her feet, but Sokka followed her, grabbing her too tightly—her fingers hurt in his grip, and her heart was aching  _ so badly. _

Not for herself, or for her people—but for Sokka, and her father, and Katara, too.

“No!” It wasn’t a shout—there was already the sound of tears in his voice—but it was a plea. “You don’t have to do that.”

Yes, she did. She did, and she would do it gladly. She did not look at him, Taking one steadying breath, “It’s my duty, Sokka.”

He drew on anger, to cover the pain and fear and  _ sorrow. _ “I won’t let you!” It simmered, and his voice softened, and he tightened his grip even further, “Your father told me to protect you.”

She took a deep breath, she spoke, “I have to do this.”

She pulled from his grip—and it slid away, softly, and her heart fell with it. She laid her hands on the poor fish—burned and blackened—and prayed.

Katara watched her collapse—Sokka caught her—and she  _ knew. _

She felt her power return—she felt the water in the very air—but her chest ached, and her eyes were burning.

“No!” Sokka’s cry came out of his chest—his voice cracked, and he gathered her lifeless body in his arms, pulling her to his chest, and—and—

“She’s gone.” It was a gasp—a sob—and he burrowed his face in her shoulder, crying, “she’s gone.”

Katara felt like she would choke, but she still got to her feet, and went to her brother, and laid her hand on his shoulder, tears streaming down her face.

Yue’s body began to glow, and then fade—and then the fish in Iroh’s hands lit with the light of the moon, and he gently set the creature back in its rightful place.

The pond lit, too, and out of it came Yue—glowing, ethereal, a goddess two feet from him, resplendent and perfect.

She wore a gown of white, but she had one, single spot of color—Sokka’s pendant, and its blue ribbon, tattooed around her neck, nestled in her collar.

She came back to him—leaning in, touching his face, wiping away his tears, and she kissed him, soft as moonlight, but warm as spring’s first sunlight. “Good-bye, Sokka,” she whispered, against his lips. “I’ll always be with you.” She curled her hands around his neck—cool and warm at the same time—and circled the moon on his skin. “I loved you.”

Sokka  _ sobbed,  _ a broken, heart-wrenching sound out of his very  _ soul. _ “I love you, Yue,” he whispered.

Not  _ loved. _ Love.

He’d always  _ love  _ her.

She smiled, a little broken, a little sad, but she kissed his forehead, then his lips, and Sokka leaned in, trying to hold her, but then…

She was  _ gone. _

He felt a weight in his hand—

_ The betrothal necklace. _

He cried—sobbed—clutching the necklace in his fist, and for the first time, he began to understand exactly why Katara kept hers tied so tightly around her neck.

He saw the knife lying by his side, and he took it, too, tying it to his ankle through blurry eyes, and he debated, before—

He tied the necklace around his own throat, with the pendant settled on Yue’s tattoo—he wore it backwards, protecting the Mark, as his father protected his own Mark for Kya.

He and Katara didn’t notice Iroh leaving, or even Aang returning—they cried together, feeling lost and alone, all over again.

Katara had lost a friend and sister, and Sokka had lost a friend and lover—someone who had become an integral part of their lives and their  _ futures. _

Even when dawn came, and Pakku said he intended to go to help the Southern Water Tribe, and told her she was now  _ Master Katara _ —

Sokka and Katara mourned even on the next, relatively relaxing leg of their journey—they rode a Water Tribe ship toward the Earth Kingdom, letting Appa have a rest, and Pakku helped continue to coach Aang, while Katara was distracted.

Katara took the knife from Sokka, just for a little while—for her own comfort, to have something there, and in the middle of the night, she often woke up and just talked to Yue, the way they had before…

Well, before the world  _ changed. _ Forever. Irrevocably, in a way that made her feel hollow again, like when she’d lost her mother.

It wasn’t the same as losing a mother, but it was the first time in a long time that she’d felt so hollow—like it was a permanent change.

Even though she felt alone after their father left, that just made her angry, the more she thought about it, so she tried to forget it, to bury that.

She’d see her father again—she refused to believe otherwise—but Yue…

Yue, and her mother—torn away from her, ripped away like taking a limb away, like she’d been permanently altered.

Sokka felt similarly, if not even worse—he felt hollowed and emptied, like someone had ripped his heart out of its resting place, and then scraped clear the hole it left, to the point that, even if he could get his heart back, it wouldn’t ever fit right again.

It would be too small for the space—small, and cold, and hard, and  _ broken. _

Like a shattered tile that couldn’t hold a single footstep, that moved and shifted in its old home after pieces of it had broken off.

It felt like his chest was being sliced open.

He stayed up too late, looking at the moon, mourning, his heart like a boulder in his chest.

He wasn’t sure he would  _ ever  _ be able to love again.

~*~

Zuko and Iroh survived—barely—by propelling themselves at night with firebending. Zuko’s was unstable, but Iroh pushed them through the water.

They cooked fish—which they could barely catch, so they were starving by the time they got to the Earth Kingdom—and sunburned, and sore.

Zuko was moodier than ever.

It was the anniversary—and Zuko would never forget the smell of burned flesh—the searing pain—the way his vision disappeared and changed, the way his hearing dimmed in his left ear—

And the nightmares.

At first, he’d woken up screaming every time.

Now it was so commonplace that it just reminded him what a failure he was.

_ He couldn’t catch a stupid child. _

Iroh was gleefully indulging in a massage, but he realized.

And then misspoke.

Zuko stormed away.

And then—then, Azula showed up.

Zuko felt terrified, but angry.

Hateful, but hopeful.

Of course, Azula dangled exactly what Zuko wanted—his home, his birthright, his  _ father _ —right in front of him and Zuko—

Of course Zuko was overwhelmed, and delighted, and too excited to be suspicious.

To hell with hunting the Avatar—he missed home so much it ached like his face had when he was first burned.

Zuko wanted to go home.

So he agreed—and scorned his (rightly) suspicious uncle—

Who showed up anyway, and then—

Saved him, saved them  _ both. _

They ran, with nothing but the clothes on their back.

It was all a blur, until they knelt by the river, both breathless and exhausted, and Zuko felt the ache in his chest like a hole.

_ If Katara felt it, it was just another layer of her own pain, mourning. _

Zuko mourned himself, his life, his family— _ everything. _

He had  _ nothing,  _ and yet he couldn’t quite let go. He just wanted one more opportunity.

He’d run in to the Avatar so many times already—just once more, surely.

He drew his knife, numb, and stared at it.

The only person who’d never left him—his uncle.

Still here.

He used the knife he’d been given so long ago—a world away, in a different life—to cut off his hair, and then passed the blade to his uncle.

He watched their shame float down the river, but he didn’t cry.

_ Just one more chance. _ He just needed  _ one more shot. _

Zuko followed his uncle, trying to drown out the voices of his father and sister in his head, telling him he wasn’t good enough.

That he’d never be.

He’d prove them wrong.

_ Just wait. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the long note—
> 
> I don’t normally share much of my personal life on the internet, and I’m going to keep it to the minimum here, but I do want to apologize for the long delay.
> 
> I understand how it feels to think a fic is abandoned, or to get upset about long delays, and I know that most people aren’t bad about it. It’s rare that I have people pester me, and you guys haven’t—and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that.
> 
> But things changed in my life right after I posted the last chapter. My grandmother got very ill, I got another new job, and then...then my grandmother passed.
> 
> She lived with us for _years_ and I _watched_ her die, and nothing in my life has been harder than seeing her pass, and seeing how it affected my mother. The truth of the matter is that we didn’t know how we were gonna survive, and things went in to overdrive, and...I’m just going to leave it at that.
> 
> I’ve had a total of four different jobs this year, one of which I lost because of COVID. The second I got, I had to quit. It was so much more work than I, alone, could manage, and I really liked my boss, I liked the idea, but it was hard, and I quit that job shortly after I got the second one, because I realized I was utterly _exhausted,_ in ways I can’t describe.
> 
> Then, my grandmother passed.
> 
> The past few months have been a blur of activity—I got a sort-of promotion in my job very quickly, and I still feel like I’m learning there.
> 
> I’m so grateful for my job, and I actually really enjoy it, but it does feel like I have no time, so often.
> 
> I’m at work at least eight hours a day, plus the drive, I have another job—and on top of that, I don’t have an actual computer to write on, for the previously mentioned chaos.
> 
> That is very difficult for me, because I like to write longer chapters.
> 
> So, that explanation out of the way, here’s the question.
> 
> This chapter was significantly shorter than the others, and it’s decidedly less detailed—it’s not like the others.
> 
> I don’t know when I’ll actually get to get my desk and computer back—or when I’ll have the time I _need_ to write longer chapters, in comfort.
> 
> So, my question is this—
> 
> Would you lot prefer updates with shorter chapters, more vague—AKA, with more time skips that jump to the things that change in the story, and focus on character moments, the things that _need_ to be seen—
> 
> Or would you like to wait it out, and have me write the way I usually do, even if it takes a very long time?
> 
> I can’t promise a regular schedule with either option—I have no regularity in my life right now—but the former would get you the juicy bits a lot quicker, if a lot messier.
> 
> What do you all think? I intend to put Zuko’s marks in the next chapter, and perhaps some of the mess with Aang’s Avatar State episode would appear with a focus on Katara, but overall, most of the story isn’t going to change much.
> 
> If I can, I’d really rather have an entire Zuko-centric chapter for number four—to show his marks, and maybe even cover “Zuko Alone” in that frame, too.
> 
> I’m very much a “character moments” kind of writer—I like the quiet, intimate moments that let us look inside a character, that let them be human, and that’s the bits I’m thinking of in this story—the moments when Zuko gets his markings, the fight with Toph, the moment where Azula attacks Iroh.
> 
> I want to delve in to those moments.
> 
> I want them to build to the moment I know I (and all of you) are waiting for—I want it to be worth it, and I want you to enjoy that buildup, that sweet wait to make it exactly as powerful as it should be.
> 
> So, what do you want?
> 
> Shorter chapters, that capture specific moments—
> 
> Or longer chapters, with more fluff and pomp and accuracy to the show?
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading, and for putting up with the long delay of me getting this out.
> 
> I hope your year has gone intensely well, and that you’re all safe and healthy and happy, to the best of your ability. Please take care of yourselves, and take the time to look out for yourself and for those you love. Too much of this world is in a hurry, and none of us can afford carelessness or callousness.
> 
> All the best to all of you, whatever your answer is! Thank you all for being here with me!
> 
> (As a bonus question, would you all like a playlist for this story? I have a few absolutes that I know belong in this story, though I’ve fiddled with them the whole time I’ve been gone. I’d be happy to share it!)


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _DISCLAIMER:_** I do **_NOT_** own _Avatar: The Last Airbender,_ or any of its contents, characters, themes, or ideas. I make absolutely no profit off this—I’m only writing for fun.
> 
> Hi guys!
> 
> First of all, I want to thank absolutely every one of you for all your kindness in the comments and all your patience, because it took such a weight off my chest, to know you guys don't hate me for taking forever. I'm absolutely blown away by all the support, and all your kindness and just...you guys are absolutely amazing, and I adore every single one of you.
> 
> Thank you so much.
> 
> The consensus seems to be that you guys prefer the longer chapters, and that's how I tend to lean, so I think it's settled! Longer chapters are here to stay, I do believe.
> 
> Now, off to some relatively unimportant ramblings about how things are going for me.
> 
> So, this is a little sooner than the gap between the last chapters...and it's decidedly longer than chapter three.
> 
> I meant to have this up sooner, but...well, formatting between Google Docs and Word is _bullshit._ It also happens that trying to copy-paste in the form of rich text in Ao3 does not really agree with me, so, uh...here's to having to write it a different way? I got so used to _not_ HTML coding as I wrote that it's gonna take some adjustment in the coming chapters. I also probably need to go back through and type in the coding in earlier chapters so it's saved if something gets lost somehow... *Rubs face.*
> 
> Anyway, I have my computer, my desk, _and_ my computer chair back, so I no longer feel like I'm going to die while writing, and it makes it significantly easier to watch ATLA on my TV and write on my computer so that I can properly translate things.
> 
> I have, however, been sick for like...a month at this point, and my doctor is mystified as to what it is, but I'm beginning to think it was just a really severe ear infection that stemmed from a sinus infection and...
> 
> Yay 2021! (Getting it over with at the beginning of the year, though, might be for the best. Maybe I'll have March clear. Bahahahaha.)
> 
> Anyway. Work has dropped in hours again, and if I can get my goddamn attention span to actually settle in, I can maybe do chapters a little quicker, once I get used to HTML-writing again. (I did that a long, long time ago—but the dust can be cleaned up, I think.)
> 
> So, that said, I've kept one promise, thus far, but not other, because, uh...apparently, I really, really like getting inside Zuko's head?
> 
> I literally knocked out the season opening with Katara in the first few lines, because...uh, I'm not the biggest fan of the slow start, other than Zuko's part of it. I know it's necessary for tension, but I just feel like it's vaguely tedious. I'll be doing the "Cave of Two Lovers" episode for...specific reasons, that you lot can probably guess.
> 
> Anyway.
> 
> For those who want to see the (admittedly way-too-long) playlist for this story, I have three links for it:  
> [Made For You, on Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/32tYvCpQBbZtvsX4NgivZ3?si=CbJZG3hmS1uHex9EH3xxDA)  
> [Made For You, on Apple Music](https://music.apple.com/us/playlist/made-for-you/pl.u-NpXm9LGummWPzo)  
> [Made For You, on YouTube](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLjnw4FMPLQdQA8GCSlhbtKuAlp3TvWPYD)
> 
> The songs aren't in any particular order—you can listen to them on shuffle, but there are a few that are...spectacularly suited to one character or the other. Bonus points to anyone who comments about any song in relation to the fic! Maybe I'll eventually write enough for it to take the entire playlist to read the whole thing...
> 
> If anyone in particular does art and wants to draw for the story, I would happily feature your art as the playlist art, with credit to you! And I'll share it in chapters, if you want me to!
> 
> Anyway. Off we go!
> 
> Enjoy a chapter that is almost _entirely_ about Zuko, darlings!

Katara hated General Fong.

No holds barred, no excuse.

But she hated him, she had a horrible feeling, on top of the ache in her chest. It wasn’t right, rushing through this.

Aang had mastered air, but water—water, he was struggling with. Katara _knew_ he could do it, she knew, but the problem was that he was as fleeting as air.

He had the attention span of a mosquito-gnat on caffeine.

He could focus when he truly needed to, but the biggest problem with Aang was that he had a streak of self-denial to rival Zhao’s pride—and sure, Aang would knuckle down when he was made to, but after the trial at the North Pole, Aang was being...avoidant.

And when General Fong confronted him about the victims of the war, Aang didn’t knuckle down—he dodged and went for the bait, which...

Katara knew it was a bad idea.

But Katara couldn’t control Aang, or Sokka, or General Fong.

She told Yue as much, watching the moon late that night. She had a bad feeling.

She was going to hold her breath until this was over.

If she was honest, she’d been holding her breath since Yue...

And of course, _of course_ it all went wrong, and Katara had the scare of a lifetime—she didn’t think she would actually get hurt, but to be shut in, without warning, without light, without _anything_ —

She felt her heart tick through the roof.

Or, more accurately, through the earth.

And when she had to talk Aang down...well, that didn’t surprise her at all. She had to swallow her pain and fear (and her quiet cockiness of _I told you this was trouble!,_ which she couldn’t quite help, if she was being honest) and just get him to come down, come out of it.

Katara wished he would grow up, just a little bit. Realize that his choices impacted _everyone._ That what he did meant more than just that moment.

He needed to bite the bullet, and do things _right._ He needed to train and practice and _work,_ and hopefully, _hopefully,_ he would admit to it.

~*~

Zuko did not know how to survive off of the land.

He couldn’t hunt or fish, and he was already tired of nuts and berries, and they had barely departed the Fire Nation.

They’d stolen some ugly brown clothes, but not any food—his uncle had insisted.

So they were living off the land, which meant they were half-starved.

And of course, his uncle had done nothing but talk about _tea._

Goddamn, useless fucking _tea._

Zuko was sick of it.

He was hungry, and tired, and angry.

Not that the latter was a change, but it was worth mentioning.

So, while his uncle debated brewing an unknown plant, Zuko stormed off, to go fishing.

It turned out he was also _impatient._

Trying to skewer a tiny, wriggling fish with a carefully-sharpened stick was _impossible._

He managed one—the tiniest fish he’d ever seen, and he figured it was better than being hungry, surely.

It was also better than standing in one spot, doing nothing, getting nowhere.

“Zuko, remember that plant that I thought might be tea?”

“You didn’t,” Zuko managed, sour. What kind of idiot _was_ his uncle?

“I did,” he said, turning, scratching, “and it wasn’t.”

Of course he’d gone for the tea.

And now he was swollen and red, looking like he’d gotten stung by a hundred hornet-wasps.

Zuko dropped the makeshift spear and gasped, jumping back.

“When the rash spreads to my throat,” Iroh said, scratching still, “I will stop breathing.” He got to his feet and pulled out the branch he’d been using to scratch his back, “But look what I found! These are pakui berries, known to cure the poison of the white jade plant!” He paused, and Zuko was ready to grab the old man and just _shake him._ “That, or makaola berries, that cause blindness.”

Spirits _help_ him, because Zuko was on his last thread of patience, and it was well beyond frayed, at this point.

So he grabbed the branch, tore it out of Iroh’s hands, and threw it. “We’re not taking any more chances with these plants!” He stared his uncle down, scowling, “We need to get help.”

 _Still_ scratching (Zuko was starting to itch, just watching him), Iroh scowled, “But where are we going to go? We’re enemies of the Earth Kingdom, _and_ fugitives from the Fire Nation.”

That was a good question, but Zuko thought for a moment. “If the Earth Kingdom discovers us, they’ll have us killed.”

“But if the Fire Nation discovers us, we’ll be turned over to Azula.”

Well, that was the decision made. “Earth Kingdom it is.”

When they found a village, they headed straight for a healer, and after they explained, she set to work immediately. “You two must not be from around here,” she guessed, all too accurately. “We know better than to touch the white jade, much less make it into tea and drink it.”

Iroh just laughed it off, with a husky laugh and a light, “Oops!”

Not the least bit suspicious, she continued working, “So where are you traveling from?”

Zuko had always been a poor liar.

He could keep his mouth shut better than anyone, but lying?

“Yes, we’re travelers!” He nearly shouted it, jumping to his feet.

She clearly thought something was off, but she didn’t say anything. “Do you have names?”

Zuko was an _idiot._ “Names?” He asked, stretching it out, far too long. He sounded suspicious, even to himself. “Of course we have names!”

As quick as he was on his feet in combat, Zuko was helplessly awkward with non-threatening people. His brain short-circuited, and he clawed through it for an answer. “I’m...Lee,” he finally managed. _Lee._ That was like...the most _ordinary_ name in the universe, right? Of course it was. And knowing he was a terrible liar, he continued, “And this is my uncle...uh, Mushi.”

Iroh gave him a scowl-glare combo that might have inflicted damage, if Zuko cared.

Iroh was much quicker than Zuko with people, and he made up his mind to return the insult, “Yes, my nephew was named after his father, so we just call him ‘Junior.’”

Zuko balked. _Junior?_ What the fuck kind of name was that?

Song didn’t notice Zuko’s outburst behind her back, “Mushi and Junior, huh? My name is Song.” As soon as she let him go, Iroh began to scratch again, “You two look like you could use a good meal.” She slapped at Iroh when she noticed. “Why don’t you stay for dinner?”

Zuko _felt_ like he could use one, but he wasn’t going to subject himself to more of the obligatory niceties and lying any more than he had to, “Sorry, but we need to be moving on.” Maybe he was just as prideful as Zhao.

“That’s too bad,” Song said, softly. “My mom always makes too much roast duck.”

Iroh, never one to pass up a good meal, leaned in, “Where do you live, exactly?”

It wasn’t too far, and as soon as the food was laid out, Zuko had to admit—he was _so hungry._

Too hungry to pretend he wasn’t grateful that Iroh was willing to make a fool of himself in front of strangers, and to not feel vaguely indebted after Song had already treated Iroh’s rash with very little scolding.

But then, Song’s mother carried more food toward the table, “My daughter tells me you’re refugees. We were once refugees ourselves,” she said, setting the duck on the table.

“When I was a little girl, the Fire Nation raided our farming village.” Zuko felt a pit in his stomach. A farming village? No weapons, no one there as a warrior? They just raided a _farming village?_

There had to be a good reason. His father would certainly have made advancements with good thought behind it. Maybe to supply their soldiers with more food.

But then, why not just take it over? Why had Song and her mother needed to flee? Perhaps they were just afraid, not knowing they weren’t going to be hurt.

“All the men were taken away,” she said, softly. “That was the last time I saw my father.”

The sickness of hunger changed to something else. Zuko looked away, feeling too many things. He swallowed them. “I haven’t seen my father in many years,” he whispered.

Song’s voice dropped, filled with sadness. “Oh.” She hesitated, and then continued. “Is he fighting in the war?”

Iroh noisily slurped a bowl of noodles.

Zuko put _his_ bowl down, staring at it, quiet for too long.

“Yeah.”

When dinner was over, Zuko went outside, just to meditate.

To empty his head of memories, and guilt, and _pain._

But then, the door opened, and Song’s voice spoke softly. “Can I join you?”

Zuko didn’t reply, but she came anyway, settling beside him. “I know what you’ve been through.”

No, she really didn’t. She had no idea.

She’d probably hate him, if she knew the truth.

“We’ve all been through it,” she added, and Zuko swallowed his scoff.

But then, she was sitting beside him, reaching for his eye, “The Fire Nation has hurt you.”

Zuko didn’t need to look to grab her wrist—his peripheral vision wasn’t perfect in that eye, but he’d trained.

She didn’t press, and they both dropped their arms.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, and she shifted her weight, pulling her right leg out from under her. “They’ve hurt me, too.” She pulled her skirt up, and then the leg of her pants, and—

Burns.

Zuko’s stomach churned, and he smelled charred flesh again. He might have gagged, if he had less self-restraint.

They _did_ hurt her. If they just went to take over the village...why?

Why? Why did they...?

He looked at the splotchy skin—glossy smooth, uneven, bubbled—

Not as severe as his eye, but...

But...

All the way up her leg—not like a cooking burn, but like it had been aimed at her. Like fire had wrapped around her leg.

They’d _attacked_ her. A little girl.

A _child._

Something in the back of his throat tried to climb up and out of his mouth, but he swallowed it down, looking away.

Song sat with him for a little while, and then her voice came again, much softer. “Lee?” She sounded almost...timid. “May I ask you something?”

Not if it was about his scar.

Not that he could say that. “Sure, I guess,” he mumbled.

“Have you gotten your Marks yet?”

The words were soft, timid, but rushed, and shy.

She was blushing, a little, he could see.

“I, uh—” She stuttered, and covered her leg, staring at the ground as she shifted back to her original position. “I’m...unmarked. The woman who tried, she said—” She cut herself off, and she was quiet for a long time. “She said she was sorry. I guess I should be grateful mine didn’t show up faded—I can’t imagine how that feels, knowing your Marked is already...gone,” she whispered. “I just...everybody I know already has their Marks, and...”

Zuko shook his head. “I—” He stopped, and the answers flooded his head, and he closed his eyes. “I wanted to—wait.” He felt his stomach churn. “I wanted to make sure...I wanted...I wanted my father to...to give me my Marks.”

It was true.

In the Fire Nation, children were often Marked by their father, if the father was a bender—and if not, by the mother, and if neither of those panned out, they were taken to a specialist.

Zuko had been banished long before he could get his Marks. He was just thirteen then, too young to be Marked—

And for the Crown Prince, he should have received his Marks in a lavish ceremony, celebrating his coming of age.

But Zuko found himself far from home, far from luxury, far from his father.

Far from his honor, and the honor of receiving his Marks.

And now...

Would he ever get to go home, and be Marked, in the way he should have been?

Song looked at him, and she softly touched his arm, just a little—barely a brush against his shirt. “I’m sorry. I hope you get to see him soon,” she said.

Zuko appreciated that.

After it all, Song’s mother offered them a wrapped ration of food, and Iroh thanked her, complimenting the food.

Zuko was only half listening, as he saw Song’s burns flashing inside his head.

He also thought about his Marks.

Then, Iroh scolded him as they started to leave—Zuko had been on autopilot, wanting to get his brain on something else. “Junior, where are your manners? You need to thank these nice people,” he said.

Zuko still felt sick, but he turned, and he bowed to them. “Thank you.”

Song dashed forward, “I know you don’t think there’s any hope left in the world, but there _is_ hope. The Avatar has returned!”

Sickness turned to anger, “I know.”

As they passed the ostrich-horse Song and her mother kept outside the gate, Zuko stopped, looking at the animal.

Maybe he was angry, and maybe resentful, and maybe he needed an outlet.

Song and her mother had enough. Song had a job, and they had plenty of food on their tables.

He took the reins of the animal and released it, tugging.

“What are you doing!?” Iroh’s voice was whispered, but scolding. “These people just showed you great kindness!”

Zuko mounted the beast and rode it right in front of Iroh. “They’re about to show us a little more kindness,” he sneered. “Well?”

Iroh knew he couldn’t change Zuko’s mind. He couldn’t.

He also knew they _did_ need help, because they couldn’t be conspicuous.

He gritted his teeth, and reminded himself to get _two_ ostrich-horses to replace the one they were taking, as soon as he was able. And lots of grain, and...

Maybe he could get Zuko to apologize, too. Zuko was capable of being a good man—he just needed to come to it, he needed to _realize_ it.

Iroh couldn’t make him do anything—he could tell Zuko the truth all day, but Zuko had to make that choice himself.

You could lead an ostrich-horse to water, but you couldn’t make it drink, even if it was dying.

Iroh could only hope his nephew would come to his senses, and be the good man Iroh _knew_ Zuko truly was, despite Ozai’s efforts to burn it out of him, and despite Zuko’s efforts to be more of what Ozai wanted.

After all, Zuko had only been a child. What child didn’t crave their parents’ love? Shorn of Ursa’s care, Zuko had done everything to try and be the child Ozai wanted, but...

Iroh knew that _that_ boy, the boy Ozai wanted, was _not_ Zuko.

Not truly.

So Iroh knew he’d bring these kind people a gift back, and apologize profusely, and maybe, by then, Zuko would join him.

They stopped some time later, and Iroh knew that his nephew was usually silent, but it seemed...different.

He didn’t want to mention the ostrich horse, so he waited for a moment, as they settled in to sleep. “Prince Zuko, is something wrong?”

Not that he _was_ a prince, at this point, Zuko thought.

He was quiet for a moment. “Uncle,” he murmured, and then he hesitated, feeling...scared.

Well, worried. Maybe.

Uneasy, definitely.

“My nephew, you can ask me anything—tell me anything,” he said, gently. He could tell.

“Was...” Zuko hesitated again, and then he sighed, and he stared at the ground. “Did you give Lu Ten his Marks, Uncle?”

Iroh was so surprised by the question that he straightened, and he swallowed the tears that threatened to rise, and then he smiled, and he settled, nodding. “I did,” he said, softly. “He would never admit it, but he was scared,” Iroh said, in a whisper that might have been conspiratory. “But he had beautiful Marks, Prince Zuko. He had a bouquet of fire lilies on his chest—and his back looked like a field of flowers.” He stopped, and he blinked away his tears, and smiled at Zuko. “He said he probably shouldn’t get her flowers, and I told him that _every_ young woman appreciates flowers.”

Zuko tried to remember his cousin—tried to remember if he’d ever seen those Markings, but...

Lu Ten had hardly been around when he was a child, and then...

“Did he meet her?”

Iroh’s face fell, and he waited for a moment. “No, Prince Zuko. He said...he would look for her when he returned from Ba Sing Se a war hero,” he murmured.

Zuko’s stomach turned inside out, and he hesitated. “I’m sorry, Uncle.”

For the first time, Iroh let himself cry, just a few tears, before he shook it off, and he smiled. “Thank you,” he said, honestly. But he watched his nephew, waiting. “What brought this on, if I may ask?”

Zuko hesitated again, and then took a breath. “Song...asked if I had gotten my Marks.”

Iroh frowned, and he thought. Offering to Mark Zuko might insult his nephew, who was still desperately seeking his father’s love. It might seem...insensitive.

But Iroh would gladly do it, for Zuko was like his own—indeed, by Iroh’s measure, Zuko _was_ his son. He loved him as much as he had Lu Ten, and he wanted all the best for Zuko.

So he took a breath, and then smiled. “Was she asking to see if you were hers?”

Zuko blushed, surprised, and it disarmed him for a moment. “No!” He denied, and then, he blushed even _more,_ because...well, she’d been _asking._ If he _was_ unmarked, if he had none, she might have...

He wished he could hide his blush with more than just the darkness of night. “She said she was unmarked.”

“Ah,” Iroh said, understanding much more quickly than Zuko. “I see.” He paused, and then waited. “Did you tell her you hadn’t had the chance?”

It was a measured question, but it still might be a little too much.

But Iroh knew Zuko had brought it up for a reason.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “She said she hoped I got to see my father soon.”

Iroh knew how much that would mean to Zuko.

He also knew it was fruitless, because Zuko felt like it was on him.

And Iroh was not going to misspeak again, though he knew the truth—Ozai loved no one, not even Azula. He didn’t even love himself, Iroh would wager.

“She is a considerate young woman,” he said, instead.

Zuko was quiet for a long moment, and the ostrich-horse shifted and settled, huffing as it prepared to sleep.

“Uncle?”

Iroh watched Zuko, feeling...worried, and thrilled. If Zuko asked, Iroh would be honored, but...but it might also mean that Zuko was giving up, and...

Iroh didn’t want that.

“Yes, Prince Zuko?”

But Zuko sighed. “Never mind,” he muttered.

Iroh did not sleep well that night.

They had the leftovers for breakfast, and then continued on.

Halfway through morning, as they stopped to let the ostrich-horse drink, Zuko stared at the water, and then spoke, “Uncle?”

Iroh’s heart jumped again. “Yes, Prince Zuko?”

Zuko took a deep breath. “Would you give me my Marks?” He said the question carefully, but then, he rushed after it, “I just—I don’t want anyone else asking,” he added. He didn’t like thinking about how his father might never give him his Marks.

He didn’t like being reminded.

He had enough reminders, enough that he carried around, as it was.

Iroh’s heart swelled, and then sank. He took his own breath, but he smiled gladly. “I would be honored, Prince Zuko.”

Even if it worried him, he truly _was_ honored.

So, they followed the river to a secluded spot, where travelers were less likely to find them, and Zuko stripped down to the bare necessities—and Iroh smiled warmly at him. “This will sting, my nephew, but I know you can handle it,” he said, gently, and he raised his palm. “By Agni, I beseech the Spirits—allow me to reveal the Marks upon my dearest nephew—the Crown Prince Zuko.”

Zuko let himself feel pride for that.

Just for a second.

Iroh’s palm lit with fire—rich orange and gold—but as he breathed, the color faded to blue, and then to searingly white—and then, he raised his other palm over the open flame.

Zuko felt the heat radiating from the flame—it was barely an inch tall, but scaldingly hot—and when Iroh laid his palm on Zuko’s hand, he swallowed his gasp.

It wasn’t as bad as his burn—not as bad as his burn—not as bad, not as bad, not as bad, not as bad—

Not as bad, not as bad, notasbadnotasbadnotasbadnotasbad—

Iroh was gentle—his hands were rough and calloused, but he barely smoothed his palm—eternally hot due to the ritual—over Zuko’s skin, up his arm, down his side, along his legs, up his other side, down his arm, and then—

Zuko _felt_ it. Hotter than Iroh’s palm, inside him—

Right in the middle of his chest—below his pecs, above his abs—

Zuko’s eyes watered, and the tears evaporated after they dropped off his jaw.

Then, it was gone, and Iroh moved up, over his shoulders, to his back.

It was _everywhere_ on his back.

Criss-crossing his shoulder blades, and around his waist—and then, the worst—the one that made him want to run, screaming—

It was in his collarbones.

It was tiny, but it flared as rich and bright as his large ones—

And when it was over, Iroh helped him to the water, clasping his arm with one, and lowered him in the river.

It came up in billows of steam, and Zuko gasped, hiding his tears in the rushing water, dunking his head under several times, because the water was the only relief from it all.

Iroh had to help him out of the water—Zuko could barely move—and he settled his nephew against the ostrich-horse carefully.

“It will take time to set, Prince Zuko,” he said, gently. “Take some deep breaths. You did so well,” he whispered, and the emotion snuck in on the end.

“What—” Zuko coughed, feeling too warm, but he took a breath. “What do they look like?”

This time, Iroh froze up, and then hesitated, before he finally spoke, quiet and careful. “I believe—I know to whom your Marks belong,” he said, gently.

Zuko couldn’t imagine that it was just _that_ obvious. “What do you mean, Uncle? What is it?”

He waited for a moment, and then let out a breath. “The young waterbender—you have her pendant in your collar,” he said, carefully. “And a starburst on your chest—it looks like the healing power she tried to use on the Moon Spirit,” he added. He waited, but Zuko didn’t react—clearly, he hadn’t processed it, yet. “You also have what looks like three water skins on your back, Nephew.”

Zuko, in fact, had not processed it.

He didn’t move, almost didn’t _breathe,_ before he turned over and crawled back toward the water.

He blinked at the water—his reflection was blurry, and almost invisible—the water wasn’t very deep, but he could just see a blue shape at his collar.

His uncle was a great liar, but in this, he had no _reason_ to lie—

Unless he had said that he didn’t know, because he wouldn’t want to upset Zuko.

But as soon as he’d seen his reflection, Zuko would’ve known it was a lie.

So, not a lie.

He reached for the spot—he couldn’t truly see his reflection, but he aimed for the spot of blue—and the skin was horribly tender.

He sat up and felt his chest, and it was sore, too—and he could see the starburst on his skin—it was so close to his heart, and parts of the starburst extended to his abs and across his chest, too. It was like a star on his torso—neon blue light.

He couldn’t see his back, but...

_Of course, a waterbender should carry their element with them._

At first, his thought went to, _I don’t even remember her name._

It wasn’t like they’d been properly introduced, although the Avatar shouted her name enough.

Why didn’t he remember it?

And then, something in his head stopped, and ran in a devastating reverse, with one, cataclysmic thought:

_What will Father think, when he finds out she’s a waterbender?_

Zuko might have vomited, if he was a lesser man.

He thought of the shame he’d brought his father, speaking out of turn, and then begging before a crowd—

He thought of how he couldn’t catch _one child,_ and cart him back home.

He thought of Azula.

And he smelled burning flesh, and imagined that, this time, he would have a hole burned through his throat—his father would try to take the mark _off._

His father would tell him that, no, actually, he was _unmarked,_ and he would still be betrothed to Mai.

 _If_ Zuko could get the Avatar back home, that is.

And then _another_ thought occurred to him—

Ozai would burn the girl _alive._

For once, Zuko didn’t correct the thought, didn’t reason it out, didn’t question it.

He knew it was true.

Ozai would kill that girl, and Zuko’s Marks would fade, and Zuko would ache in his soul for the rest of his life, because—

He could feel it.

She’d been Marked, too.

He’d thought her younger than himself—maybe around Azula’s age—but he knew, he could _feel_ it.

He suddenly knew how he’d healed so fast after the explosion—she’d been healed, too.

And his chest hurt _so_ badly—not in the Mark, but in his _soul._ His heart hurt.

She was...mourning.

He wondered why.

And then he thought of the pendant that was so much a part of her, that it wound up on _his_ skin, and he remembered the feeling of the necklace in his hand, its weight, the way the ribbon slid through his fingers, softened by the oil in her skin, how she’d been _so desperate_ to get it back.

He wondered what it meant to her, if it was so much a part of her that it became part of his Marks.

He felt guilty, after holding on to the thing for so long, but—

But he’d done it for the right reasons! He had done it to do his duty.

Then why did the thought of it weigh on his mind?

And why was...

Why was there a healing starburst on his chest?

Maybe it was where she’d been healed, before.

He hoped.

And then, then, it hit.

His Marked was a _waterbender,_ she was _not_ from the Fire Nation.

Maybe if she hadn’t been a waterbender, if she just didn’t bend—if she wasn’t a bender, it might have been alright.

Well, probably not, but...

But it would be better than her being a waterbender.

He could not imagine his people accepting the crown prince being with a waterbender, and...

And his father would definitely not _allow_ that.

He couldn’t let _anyone_ know.

He gathered himself, stumbling to his feet, and Iroh caught him, surprised.

“Nephew, are you alright?”

His voice had a panic that Zuko had never heard, and Zuko shook his head. “I—I need to cover them,” he gasped.

Iroh frowned, and he had to think, as scrambled as Zuko was—he was trying to head for his clothes. “You need to let the Marks breathe,” Iroh urged.

Zuko shook his head, stumbling toward the ostrich-horse, and he grabbed the bottom half of his clothes, pulling them up to his waist, and he hissed as the one around his waist burned at the contact. “I can’t let—I can’t let anyone find out,” he nearly shouted. “A waterbender—what would the people think—and Father—”

Iroh knew it was much more than fear of judgement that crept through Zuko’s eyes. “We will make sure your clothes cover your Marks, Prince Zuko.”

Zuko relaxed, a little.

But after a breath of air, and another dip in the river, Zuko dressed, feeling all too warm, but they climbed atop the ostrich-horse, and headed back to the road, toward the next village.

He wondered if this pain would linger as long as he thought—it felt like it was seared in his soul, like the pain would linger forever.

He felt feverish and dizzy—Iroh took over, reaching for the reins around Zuko, and Zuko drifted uneasily until they got to the next village.

Iroh spotted a near spot in the river, and he let Zuko rest, and then they made the rest of the journey.

Zuko was too delirious to stay on his feet—so they found a high-traffic spot and settled in with the ostrich-horse.

Thankfully, the town was absolutely filled to the brim with water.

Despite Zuko’s multiple, through-the-teeth scoldings, Iroh began to beg for coins—it was far better than thievery, and they couldn’t exactly get jobs.

They couldn’t stay—not with Azula after them.

But Zuko wasn’t a beggar.

“This is humiliating,” he ground out, after they’d gotten just a few coins, especially since they were both just _sitting_ there.

Zuko had tried to get up, twice, but the heat lingering in his skin like the worst sunburn he’d ever had made it hard to keep his balance.

Iroh tried to soothe him—told him that, once they had enough food for lunch and dinner, that they’d find a shaded river and let Zuko _rest,_ because, in truth, if Zuko had received his Marks in normal circumstances, he would have had the chance to soak in cold water several times through the day.

It allowed the Marks to set, and prevented overheating.

Luckily, it was not the middle of summer, which meant it wasn’t as sweltering as it might have been otherwise, but Iroh still wanted to get his nephew in to some cold water.

It was ironic that, in fact, now that Zuko had his Marks, he actually _needed_ a waterbender—he needed his Marked.

But Iroh would have to do what he could, here and now, and Zuko would be okay.

He was still restless, which was a good sign—he wouldn’t need any medicine or supervision, or, not more than what he had at this moment.

“We’re royalty,” Zuko added, sneering. “These people should be giving us whatever we want.”

His mood was decidedly worse than ever, Iroh noted. But he said, as gently as he could, “They will, if you ask nicely.”

He did exactly that, with a very pretty woman who giggled at Iroh’s compliment, and then went on with her day, not bothered at all with the change she’d dropped.

 _She_ looked rich—well-dressed and made up.

She should’ve given them more, Zuko thought.

But then, _then_ came the guy that make Zuko’s Marks seem unimportant, because he was an _asshole._

He offered a gold piece, which made no fluff for Zuko, but Iroh jumped at the opportunity.

As though singing unprompted wasn’t enough, the bastard pulled his dual swords and swiped at Iroh’s feet, making him “dance.”

Iroh might have brushed it off, but Zuko watched the asshole the whole time he walked away, thinking of the cart that had just rolled by, covered in masks.

When they had enough coins for food, they bought it, and headed toward the edge of the village, and Zuko took a long soak in the most shaded part of the river, and his head began to clear.

Zuko was a _prince,_ and that permeated everything about himself, including his attitude and his entitlement.

It also went to how he believed his uncle should be treated.

These peasants—they should have been _bowing_ at their feet, giving them _everything_ they wanted.

They shouldn’t have to beg, or to _perform,_ or to...to... _grovel,_ as though they weren’t _human._ As though they didn’t deserve to _live._ They shouldn’t have to even _ask nicely._

Zuko was never okay with simply being idle, with waiting.

So as soon as he could move, he did.

He hunted down the asshole, stalking him through the street—he was really far too unaware for a guy who carried his swords around so proudly, Zuko thought—and followed until the bastard was paranoid and afraid. He’d humiliated his uncle, after all. He made a noise, and when the bastard whirled, threatening nothing, Zuko disarmed him and stole his dual swords, and then left him lying in the street, standing over him with the mask of the Blue Spirit, sneering behind the grotesque, fanged grin of the character.

And he left, feeling proud of himself, and self-satisfied for taking the only tools he’d had to bully people, and paying back the humiliation he’d given Uncle.

And maybe the heat of the Marks had just come right back when he was done, but they’d set up close to the river, in a cave, so Zuko hid his new weapons and his mask, soaked in the river, and then fell asleep, exhausted.

Zuko spent the next day alternating between soaking in the river (Iroh insisted that they stay for a little while, because they could get to the river with ease, and they were just deep enough in the forest not to be easy to follow), and thinking about how to avoid begging again.

He wasn’t going to put up with that sort of humiliation _ever again._

So when he felt well enough to get out, Zuko collected his swords and mask and ran some... _errands._

Iroh questioned where he got the food, but he didn’t ask too much, after he tasted it.

And Zuko went right back out, soaked in the river, and then went after a man who was clearly a greedy bastard.

He earned an entire chest full of gold coins out of the quick attack, and he set about getting some nice things.

Mostly for his uncle. Zuko didn’t want anything but his old life, and money couldn’t buy that.

Just the Avatar.

And when Iroh arrived and commented on all their new things, Zuko just pointed out the new teapot.

And Iroh spouted some garbage about how it didn’t matter how nice his tea set was, which made Zuko feel...

Angry. Why had he bothered to go to that trouble, if his uncle wasn’t thankful?

And then he started saying that poverty was _honorable._

To Zuko, there was _no honor,_ not a drop of it, if he couldn’t capture the Avatar and return home. “There’s no honor for me without the Avatar,” he grumbled.

Iroh took a breath. “Zuko...even if you _did_ capture the Avatar, I’m not so sure it would solve our problems.” He paused, and Zuko could see Azula’s face. “Not now.”

“Then there is no hope at all,” he murmured, turning to get up.

Iroh’s reaction was swifter and more fierce than Zuko had ever expected, “No, Zuko!” He grabbed Zuko by the shoulders, hauling him back. “You must never give in to despair.” Zuko didn’t look at him, but Iroh did not let go. “Allow yourself to slip down that road and you surrender to your lowest instincts.”

Well, what if he already had? Zuko wasn’t a thief, and he was a horrible liar, and he had always believed in hard work—he had trained and pushed himself, after all. But Zuko had resorted to stealing food and money, rather than taking the long road of begging, or working—and he wasn’t _lying_ to his uncle, but he wasn’t necessarily telling the truth, either.

Iroh squeezed Zuko’s shoulders very gently. “In the darkest times, hope is something you give _yourself._ That is the meaning of inner strength,” he said, trying to help.

Iroh was _always_ trying to help Zuko.

Zuko looked at him, but still got up and walked away.

Iroh’s heart dropped.

And when Zuko returned, saying he’d thought about Iroh’s words, well...Iroh was elated.

That is, until Zuko said that they were of no use to each other anymore—that they should travel separately, from here on out.

But Iroh knew there was an endless truth in his nephew’s words—Zuko needed to find his own way, and Iroh supposed—

He supposed it was time to let him.

But he still offered Zuko the ostrich-horse, because it would be far easier for Iroh to track an enormous beast than his nephew.

Zuko packed away a modest amount of belongings, and as much food as he could take on top of that, and since his uncle wasn’t opposed to begging, he took most of what was left of the money.

If, perhaps, a few coins got slipped in to Uncle’s pack, well...

Maybe Zuko was worried about his uncle, too, even if he didn’t necessarily act like it, at the time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh, about the promise for the "Zuko Alone" chapter...
> 
> Uh, I got a little...obsessive. And in to Zuko's head.
> 
> So this chapter was over 6,000 words, and if I had gone on, it would have just felt...like too much?
> 
> So I think next chapter is going to be focused on "The Cave of Two Lovers," if not parts of other episodes in the story—in truth, I'm not absolutely certain how things are going to come out, because there's very little planning in my head. I tend to let stories write themselves.
> 
> I want to do another, separate chapter for "Zuko Alone," with some...canon changes to adjust for the AU (no spoilers! it's small things, rest assured, that will just make this AU feel a little more complete), so maybe that'll be chapter six, but I'm not going to make you any false promises as to _which_ chapter it will be, but it will come to fruition! I promise!
> 
> Hopefully this was a pretty good amount of Zuko, who I've really wanted to get in to the story to this point, because I think it's good to have balance—we got to see inside Katara's head, so now it's time to see inside Zuko's.
> 
> What do you guys think of Zuko's Marks? Any speculation on any of them?
> 
> (If you're wondering why he has three water skins, Katara has three on her when the Invasion happens—two crossing her back, and one across her lower back. Minor spoiler in that I'd rather that be the _norm_ for her, because, despite her ability to pull water out of the air, more water is more power.)
> 
> So, for all of you wonderful people who have been so kind and caring and patient, thank you so very much. Truly.
> 
> I hope to have the next chapter up much sooner, but we'll see what life rolls at me.
> 
> If you check out the playlist, drop a comment! It's precious to me—I've been listening to it a lot, and although some of the songs have a similar sentiment, I think it tends to suit the characters and their circumstances and...well, a lot of my heart went in to feeling out the songs during my long absence, and I've almost removed some, but then I hear them again and I like them so much for one reason or another. It's far too long, I know, but...well, what can I say? I'm longwinded, so I can't expect much less.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed it! Please let me know! I hope you all are doing really well, and that the year has started off well for you!
> 
> Links for the playlist again, here:  
> [Made For You, on Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/32tYvCpQBbZtvsX4NgivZ3?si=CbJZG3hmS1uHex9EH3xxDA)  
> [Made For You, on Apple Music](https://music.apple.com/us/playlist/made-for-you/pl.u-NpXm9LGummWPzo)  
> [Made For You, on YouTube](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLjnw4FMPLQdQA8GCSlhbtKuAlp3TvWPYD)


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